TCOT Tell Tale Kiss
by DNPLC
Summary: In TCOT Tell Tale Talk Show Host why does Perry Mason say he's been waiting so long for a kiss from Della Street? For that one little kiss? When Heaven knows there have been so many? Why is that one so special?
1. Chapter 1

So many stories I want to work on but this just came to me after reading some interviews with RB (who repeatedly asked interviewers "How do you know they're not married?") and Barbie Hale (who mentioned PM "planting one on" DS in _**public**_ in a _**courtroom**_ (!) and insinuating a "major shake-up" must have inspired that.)

I NEVER thought I would marry them in a story because I love their indie spirit-so devoted without the certificate; particularly DS. But it seems possible AND in doing this, I get to keep RB alive and I'd do just about anything to make that dream come true!

Happy Valentine's Day to all of the Della-Perry lovers! May this greatest of love stories never die!

_**Tuesday, September 7, 1993, Los Angeles**_

Della was exhausted. Usually she tried to hide that fact around the office but was finding it next to impossible these days. This trip was necessary for their next case but she sure could have done without it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in a hotel room in Santa Barbara, she was still wearing her coat, with her purse on her lap. All of the information Perry asked for and then some was tucked safely in her briefcase, requiring but a few hours of her time to procure. Over 40 years of conducting research for their cases—property and financial records, background checks, thousands of hours in town halls and newspaper morgues—had made Della particularly adept at finding what she needed fast.

When Della Street went looking for a new job in 1949, a job that would allow her to do "more" she never would have believed how much _more_ she would be doing; professionally _and_ personally. All alone Della gave a slight sad laugh aloud. Oh how she loved that man; she loved him so very much that it often overwhelmed her.

A woman had to make choices in life, especially her generation, and Della Street had made _many_ difficult ones. But at the age of 71 and after 44 years with him she knew that there wasn't one thing she would have done differently if it meant they could not have been together.

As embarrassed as she was going to be, the idea of being unnecessarily away from him for even a night seemed suddenly ludicrous. Ten minutes ago they had granted her request for early check-in and now, hopefully, they wouldn't mind if she took an early check out-a _really_ early check out.

Slinging her overnight and handbags over her shoulder, she carried her briefcase in one hand and hoisted the huge vase filled with three dozen pink roses onto her hip. Shutting the door behind her with her foot she moved briskly to the elevator, pleased with her decision.

Driving home to him, Della lamented this year, a year which could not end soon enough for her. The last few months left her with the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that something was missing in her life. Normally when she had that feeling, the answer was neither immediate nor obvious. Della was never clear what it was, _exactly,_ that she needed.

This time she knew. Della Street knew exactly what she needed.

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Perry sighed. They had a great deal of work to do on two separate cases and he hated having to send Della away; hated the idea of being away from her, which they had decided after this year they would never do again. But their work always made other plans for Perry Mason and Della Street. Neither of them would have had it any other way, their shared dedication had been the thing, next to their grand and epic passion, that had bound them together so closely. Never was so magnificent a creature this integral to anyone's work and not as muse, although she certainly was that, but as the most trusted and dependable colleague he had ever had.

Perry was forced to stay behind because they were in the middle of the prelim for Della's good friend Dr. Sheila Carlin. Oh he knew who did it, he just had to break him and to do so he and Ken had to compile the necessary evidence, a thing that had proved most difficult this far. Perry would have much preferred to be with his girl.

Why did she love him so?

Perry wondered often particularly this year. But she did, he could feel it on her. When she was around he felt himself basking in something he couldn't quite name. When she left the room it went with her, leaving him bereft.

What he was never sure _she_ believed, however, was that he loved her even more. If anything ever happened to Della Street there would be no reason for Perry Mason to go on. He said that once and was quite certain she thought he was being his dramatically inclined self.

He was not.

Quieter than usual, Della had also been looking tired. There was no question that this year had aged her. Perry was well aware of the effect his health problems had on her. That was the primary reason, perhaps the only reason, he had finally agreed to take better care of himself: for her. After all, she had been doing everything she could to help him but as she pointed out, she could only do so much.

As far back as the 1960s his health had been a constant worry for her. In 1977 the only good thing that she thought _might _come out of his judgeship was that maybe, just _maybe_, it would allow him to slow down and take better care of himself. Of course the opposite was true.

The separation was an unmitigated disaster. Perry, who had always turned to food and drink when under duress, packed on weight. Unchecked his blood pressure sored impelled by late, lonely nights in restaurants with far too much food in front of him, the plume of cigarette smoke perpetually over his head and the rather steady flow of spirits around him. Even Della found herself drinking too much and smoking more than usual as the separation wore on, like a war that had gotten lost on its way to the end.

By the time Perry finally managed to right himself the damage had been done. Della had never been a woman who nagged; and of course, Perry was wise enough to know that someone encouraging you to do what was best for you was not nagging. Oh, she would spar with him at work, which he encouraged even when it tired him out—no one could keep him sharp the way she could. But in his personal matters she was almost strangely silent—until this year.

This year, when the walls came tumbling down around them with a potentially deadly diagnosis, Della Street started speaking up. While he had done almost nothing to bring this on himself in any way he certainly wasn't helping himself either she pointed out. While he recuperated she said little. But as soon as doctors pronounced him well, she had decided there were going to be rules and they were going to be _obeyed_.

And that was the word the genteel Miss Street used, "You _will_ obey my directives Perry Mason."

Della Street simply refused to allow their story to end.

After several terrifying months that included major surgery, a difficult recuperation and even worse follow up treatment they could relax. Just a few weeks ago, at his six-month check-up, his team of oncologists told them that harsh though it may have been, his treatment was an unqualified success. Perry Mason would likely die a good many years from now and from something else.

Della amazed everyone who knew her. An iron butterfly by nature, when faced with the mortality of the only man she had ever loved she somehow grew even stronger. While running the office, his practice, and their home, her most important duty was overseeing his treatment. This she did with the focus of an MD and the research abilities of… well, Della Street, humor and light touch intact.

Perry Mason was quite certain that this was the third time the love of his life had _saved_ his life, which, if true, she claimed was done purely for selfish reasons.

Not once during his illness had he, or anyone else,_ seen_ Della Street shed a single tear; until that is the doctors declared him reservedly cured.

They hadn't even had the chance to sit down when the oncologist, excited by their success, blurted out the results. It took Perry a moment to process but relief flattened Della Street instantly. When those marionette strings were slashed she crumpled, Perry barely catching her. Cradling her in his lap, he was unable to soothe her until well after the shot of Valium, upon which the doctors had insisted, took effect.

Holding her close Perry wondered when she had gotten so thin and why he hadn't noticed. Instantly relief over _his_ health was superseded by worry about what this might have done to Della's.

Now, just weeks later he had to send her on a more than two hour car trip, to work and then stay in a hotel alone. Actually, she could probably _use_ a night to herself, he thought trying to curb his more selfish instincts. Maybe he should call and arrange some champagne and an in-room massage for her…provided they had a _female_ masseuse available. Doing something nice for his girl made a night in their home without her marginally less unbearable; but only marginally.

As he was about to pick up the phone to dial out, it rang.

"Mason!" he all but yelled into the receiver.

"That's why I don't like to let you answer our phone. You scare people," Della laughed.

"Never underestimate the importance of fear. People respect someone who terrifies them."

"You're not so tough."

"Yes but only _you_ know that. I'd like to keep it that way. How's it going up there?"

"Easy-peasy Japanesey."

"Boy, there's an oldie…"

"I like oldies…"

"Fortunately for me."

"I'd say."

"Enjoying yourself? Thought I might get you a massage tonight."

"Oh it's lovely! The weather is gorgeous, the room is wonderful and their restaurant looks great. I could work out in the gym, eat my dinner right in bed then have a long bubble bath and sleep without my ear plugs!" Della chuckled.

"I don't snore."

"Right… you keep telling yourself that, Counselor."

Della sounded light and airy for the first time in a while, he noted with some annoyance and hurt.

"Anyway, it's just perfect up here."

"I'll order the massage."

"I saw a very handsome young man in the elevator looked like a masseur. See if you can get him."

Damn her. "How am I supposed to get that particular person?"

"Mmm…he had a beard, was quite tall, dark hair, extraordinarily handsome. My type." As much fun as she was having, this was probably mean. Probably.

"As you wish," said Perry grimly. "When will you be back at the hotel so I can make the appointment?"

Oh he was angry alright. "Well you should probably just find out when he can accommodate me, so to speak."

"Fine." Perry hung up the phone harder than he had intended.

Perry was on hold for the concierge trying to figure out how to describe this guy without sounding like an idiot.

"Concierge."

"Good afternoon, my secretary is staying with you and I would like to arrange a split of champagne and a massage for her as a gift."

"You secretary's name?"

"Miss Street."

The Concierge was silent a moment. "Miss Della Street?"

"That's correct."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the computer says she checked out."

"What? When?" Perry screamed into the phone.

"Well, I do hope I haven't gotten her into any trouble but the computer has her checked out… mmm …over an hour ago. Actually, about ten minutes after she checked in…. Sir?"

Perry was laughing now. "Sorry to have troubled you young man. Thank you."

With a grin as wide as the horizon, Perry dialed their car phone. As soon as she picked it up he could hear the ring of her sexy laughter.

"Hellllloooo?" Della sang into the receiver.

"Young lady you are a brat, you know that don't you?" He could not keep the delight out of his voice.

The effects of those throaty ha, ha, ha's of hers threatened to show on other parts of his body besides his face.

"The only tall, dark, handsome man with a beard whose hands I want on me—in fact, the only man of any kind whose hands I want on me—is you, my own true… am I going to get my wish tonight?"

"After the way you've whetted my appetite, Miss Street? You might get a lot more than you bargained for, young lady."

Perry's voice was so low she could feel it in places nice girls didn't name.

"Pick you up at 5?" He could hear she was having trouble and it gave him great pleasure.

"Della, come home to me. Be careful and pay attention to the road. I'll be waiting for you downstairs at 5 but baby?"

"Mmm?" Della realized it was not an answer but a moan.

"Come home to me," Perry whispered and hung up the phone a happy man.

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"This is _delicious_," Perry smiled at Della.

"Ha! Nice try, Counselor. But you have been trying so hard…and doing so well. I'm proud of you!"

Della who had gotten up to clear their plates leaned over and nuzzled in his neck before picking up his plate and heading to the sink.

"I wish there were somewhere to take you out dancing tonight."

Perry was standing behind her now, his arms wrapped around her waist.

"Feeling that good?" said Della joy spreading across her face. It had been a _very_ bad year.

"Della, my six month check-up was even better than they expected. I'm going to be fine," Perry could feel her shake a bit when she took a deep breath. "Let Cassie do the dishes tomorrow and come sit with me so we can pick up where we left off on the phone."

"You know better than that. I cannot sit down with dirty dishes in the sink. How do you think I was raised?" Della laughed her throaty, sexy laugh. "You've known me 44 years…

"Loved you for 44 years," Perry interrupted concentrating on the soft silk of her white shirt his hands running up and down her back.

Della smiled and turned into him, "Yes, my darling loved me for 44 years…"

Della put her head against his chest and heard his even breathing, much less shallow than it had been, heard his heart strong and steady through his turtleneck. Maybe the doctors were right. Maybe they had weathered the worst. Running her hands up and down his back she suddenly wanted to stay in that exact position…forever.

Perry knew his girl and just as he knew that those dishes would have to get done, he knew that she was reliving the last year of their lives; and a replay of one 30 years ago almost to the day.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thursday, January 3**__**rd**__**, 1963, Los Angeles**_

"Well, it's not good," said the doctor, "But we won't know for sure how bad it is until we go in."

Della felt the floor drop from beneath her. Reaching for Perry's hand she maintained complete composure and took control of the situation.

"What kind of surgery? And if so, when?"

"Exploratory. Tomorrow morning, 10AM."

Della looked over at Perry who was now ashen, completely terrified at the news and the way events were unfolding so rapidly.

"Just hold on, doctor," said Della. "What is the surgery? What are the risks?"

"We expect to remove a length of Mr. Mason's colon to get the cancer," the doctor seemed to be getting annoyed. "I'm sorry you're Mr. Mason's… _secretary_?"

Perry's symptoms were scary and had gotten much worse but Della never-the-less had had a difficult time getting him to go to a doctor at all. Getting him to a _second_ gastroenterologist was going to be a nightmare; a necessary nightmare as this one was a complete idiot, she didn't care who recommended him.

"Doctor," said Perry in a very small voice, "Miss Street is much more than my secretary. If she asks you a question it's as if I'm asking it."

"Great," said the doctor obviously put upon by this man and his mistress. "Look, we need to admit you tonight, do the surgery in the morning."

"But.." Della had started another of her "annoying" questions.

"Look, enough. Do you want him to have a chance? Up to you," the doctor was putting Perry's x-rays and test results back in the over-sized medical folder.

"Doctor, may I _bother_ you with a final question?" Della Street stood serene and elegant in a two-piece black suit with a short swing jacket and pencil skirt, a white cross blouse with a plunging neckline and heels so high they would intimidate anyone. Slapping her black gloves in her hand and slipping her purse over her elbow before she crossed her arms over her chest, Della had turned uncharacteristically cold.

"Are you the absolute best in your field?"

"I think so."

"Who would you say is…second best?"

"Steinmetz over at Cedar's, he's a leader in this field, next to me, of course."

Perry looked up at Della who had wanted him to see Steinmetz before Laura had suggested he just had to go to the eminent Horace Bow, in front of whom he now sat. Della remembered Laura's words that "simply anyone who was anyone went to Bow." Now she regretted mightily not fighting for what she knew was right and worse, she could see he regretted not listening to her.

Della Street turned into a fury, suddenly thrusting her hand across his desk.

"Mr. Mason's records, please—all of them, with x-rays."

The doctor finished gathering up all of his notes and films, put them back in their oversized folder.

"I don't think…" he was holding onto the records.

Having no patience left and not interested in wasting another minute, the formidable Miss Street reached across the desk and yanked the records from his hands. Sticking them under one arm she stuck her other hand out and down for Perry to take, pulling him up like a little boy.

Shell shocked, Perry just followed, as Della led them unceremoniously out of the office and to the pay phone across the hall. Emptying her change out onto the tray under the phone she requested the phone number for Dr. Merle Steinmetz at Cedar's Sinai and then asked to be put through. As she waited she leaned over to Perry who was still holding her hand while he smoked, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Yes, Dr. Steinmetz's office?" Della then proceeded to not only to drop Perry's name and chronicle what they had endured with this idiot over the last week, but she insisted on seeing the doctor …_today_.

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In bed much later, Perry lay next to Della in the dark, smoking, one arm behind his head the ashtray on his naked belly. Della, still in her slip and stockings, was laying against him. There was a soft glow coming from somewhere behind her giving her face dark, interesting shadows. Captivated by her beauty he could not understand how a place without Della Street could possibly be called Paradise, not even Heaven.

Steinmetz, who was very impressed with Miss Street's quickly but thoroughly acquired knowledge of his field and Mr. Mason's potential illness, had assured the couple that Mr. Mason could take a few weeks to set up the office to work well in his absence. Della pointed out that his surgery required a fair recuperation the less he worried the better he'd do.

"Listen to your secretary," offered Dr. Steinmetz. "Listen to her then marry her. You two will have a long life together."

Della looked down, blushing, but Perry reached for her hand with the first real smile she had seen in weeks. He instantly felt better with Steinmetz and wondered, but only to himself, when the insecure part of him would stop seeking out the advice, approval and counsel of Laura Robertson.

"I'll never let anything happen to you," Della said into the darkness, as Perry smiled and patted the hand she was running across his chest.

"Della?"

"Mmm hm?"

"I love you," Perry stubbed out his cigarette and put the ashtray back on his nightstand. Turning on his side he drew a finger down the side of her cheek. "You know when you walked through my office door, I never thought anyone could be lovelier than you were at that moment. But it's been 14 years and each year I think, 'This is Della's best year.' Then the year passes only to find you having grown more beautiful."

"Well then we're even, Counselor?"

"What do you mean?"

"Each year I think I can't love you more only to learn as the old year ends that I love you even more than I did at its beginning."

Perry was holding her around the waist now as he gently started to kiss her shoulders and neck. Magically her slip was over her head and on the floor in a billowy heap. His hands had replaced the cups of her bra his palms brushing her lightly as she started to whimper. Reaching down she untied his pajama bottoms and forced them down until he could kick them the rest of the way off.

Pushing him onto his back so she could admire him without a hint of bashfulness; Della wondered if other women were as brazen about gazing at their naked lovers. As her hands tried to make him forget this horrible day, he began claiming her lips, forcing her mouth to take more and more of his.

Perry had always felt that Della was part of him and he was part of her; that if they hadn't found one another they would never have lived up to their potential. Kissing her fiercely he realized he was trying to hide inside her. After a couple years of taking each other for granted—as the best of couples will do—urgency shimmered on their flesh again. They needed so little tonight, just kisses and a few caresses.

"I know this is a bad time of the month for us to…"

"I don't care," Della moaned into his ear. "Please…"

"I'll be careful to leave before…"

But Della had pulled him back down onto her, taking his sculpted mouth back into hers. There were times, many of them, that Della craved kissing Perry and she could do it without end. During their first year together, sitting in the car when he dropped her off, she needed nothing more than his lips on hers and his hand stroking the tender flesh beneath her bra until she was crying out hoping his shoulder muted her sounds.

That she would have him completely tonight was an extravagance.

With no time to remove her garters he just ripped the side of her lace panties, apologetically, and pushed them to the side.

They cried out almost immediately. When Perry went to move away from her she pulled him back.

"Della…"

But she didn't care; she was 41 and it was unlikely to happen but as she told him later so what if it did? What she did not say to him was that someday, if they were terribly unlucky, maybe it would be all she had of him. Della wrapped her legs around him, holding his body tight against hers. Perry screamed loudly, his head twisting back.

Collapsing on top of her, he put his head in her shoulder his warm tears making trails on her neck.

"Shhh…my love…shhh…I promised you and I meant it. I won't let anything happen to you."

The fell asleep without moving, Perry safe and sound smothering her little body with his, her arms and legs wrapped around him.

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When the doctors came out of surgery they told Della that it was what they had feared but it was caught very early and while they needed a few more tests they were fairly sure that it hadn't spread anywhere else. Perry would be fine after a long recuperation.

Della ran the office without Perry for almost six weeks, helping other attorneys who pitched in. The first week she spent every night in his hospital room, first in a chair and then on a cot a sympathetic nurse brought her. Perry wanted to tell her to go home but he couldn't; and she wouldn't have left anyway. Instead he just thanked her repeatedly.

Once he was released, Della went to him every night, taking up where the nurse left off. After ten days the nurse was dismissed and Della would sneak away at lunch time to be with him, as well. As close as they were before this happened, it paled compared to what they became after.

And the ugly disease would not be heard from again…for 30 years.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Tuesday, September 7, 1993, Los Angeles**_

"Many hands make quick work or words to that effect." Perry threw the towel down on the counter and led his lovely girl to the couch.

Della had snuggled into the corner of the couch and Perry tried to tuck himself against her, head on her chest, making her laugh.

"You're not exactly a lap dog my friend."

Perry laughed impishly, making her laugh out loud now. Stroking his hair, which was very full again, she placed her lips on his forehead.

"What I wouldn't give to share a cognac with you right now," Perry sighed.

"I know but you had wine with dinner…"

"That's the worst thing you know with all of that fish and chicken…white wine instead of red. At least there are some decent rosés now. Perhaps I'll skip wine with dinner and start having a good Burgundy before."

Perry's sigh broke Della's heart.

"I have to sit down and work out some sort of schedule for you where you are allowed some well-regulated splurges."

"A schedule of well-regulated splurges?" Perry laughed at her. "That sounds remarkably… _spontaneous_."

"Dear, spontaneity was never, ever a priority for either of us, fortunately for our clients."

"Della Street, I think that you may be worse than me in that regard."

"That office of yours was nice and spontaneous the first day I walked in," she goaded her boss.

"Hmpf."

Della laughed out loud at him.

"I insist we go out more so you don't have to cook. I worry about you doing so much and cooking is no fun for me anymore," complained Perry.

"I have you to help with the dishes and you are _surprisingly_ good a menial tasks," she pursed her lips and stuck her chin out at him.

Every time she did that he was transported back 40 years, they were in their old office and she was a girl. Reaching up he ran the back of his fingers along her soft cheek.

"You did an exceptional job at the office without me. I'm a good candidate for house husband, don't you think?" asked Perry.

"I do."

"Except I'm not…"

"A good candidate?"

"A husband… I don't suppose you'd like to rectify that?"

"Yes."

"I meant by _marrying_ me. I don't suppose you'd want to do that?" Perry laughed.

"Yes."

"Yes?" Perry struggled to sit up immediately, prompting a giggling Della to help push him up. "Yes you wouldn't want to marry me, or… yes you would want to marry…me?" Perry looked confused.

"What?" Della shook her head.

"Well the way I asked you… was wrong …well, I didn't think…never mind, yes you would want to marry me or …

"Perry!"

Perry was so stunned at what seemed to be happening that he was tongue-tied. Not sure what to do next so he decided to start over.

With his eyes already filling involuntarily with tears, he half rolled off the couch hitting the floor with a thud and groan. Once down there he was so absorbed in the moment that he didn't even consider how he was going to get back up.

Leaning forward by then, her forearms on her legs, Della watched the spectacle with a mixture of concern and admiration. Bringing his bad knee up with a noise of indeterminate origin and leaving the good one down, Perry took the slender, ageless hands in his.

His deep voice choked and cracking, he tried asking but it came out as a plea. "Della Street…will you… please… please finally do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes, my love."

Perry just stared at her, letting the silence fill the space around them, afraid to move for fear that she would change her mind. Tears started down the beautiful steep angle of her cheeks. Perry, stunned, leaned an elbow on her knee and covered his mouth with his hand.

After a very long time, he said, "I'll be damned."

Della fell back into the couch laughing but Perry pulled her back toward him.

"Soon? Please?"

"Ohhh….Counselor, I think that our engagement has been quite long enough, don't you?" Perry nodded. "What are you doing this week?"

"I plan on becoming the luckiest and happiest man on the face of this Earth." And Perry Mason meant it.

With great ease, which they later attributed to adrenaline, Perry stood up with a single push off the couch, reaching his hands down for her to take. When he pulled her up and into his arms he brought her into a dance to music that existed only for them.

Holding her at arms' length he looked quizzically at her but she just smiled and cupped his cheek in her hand. Della had let her hair grow a bit longer again and he loved the way the curls hung, framing her pretty face. Brushing a few stray ringlets back he just kept staring at her. She had never, ever said yes to him before so he had no reason to believe this was anything but real.

They walked upstairs together, arms wrapped around each other's waist.

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"Miss Street, if I wake tomorrow morning and frankly after that it's a big if, and this has all been a dream…" Perry was holding her tightly, running a finger along her bottom lip.

"Counselor, I am marrying you as soon as we can get in front of a judge because the only thing I want in this world is to hear you refer to me as your wife. I can't even describe to you how much it means to me."

"You could at least try…" Perry laughed.

Della swung her legs over the edge of the bed and scampered, that was the only word Perry thought fit, out of the room and down the stairs. Perry marveled at how quickly she could still move, often on those mini stilts she called pumps. As ever, they complimented one another, Della's incredible agility making up for his lumbering lack of it; but Della Street motoring around the house naked? That was…unusual.

When she returned she had her briefcase, and Perry couldn't help but guffaw at the sight of his naked fiancée carrying her briefcase as if she was walking into court; a mental image he fully expected to reappear at very inappropriate times going forward. Bringing the briefcase into their bed, she opened it on her naked lap; providing more images for the future.

"Not a good precedent Miss Street, briefcase in bed…."

"Can't be helped," Della laughed, flipping through one of her many notebooks until she found what she wanted.

"As you know, there's no waiting period in California. We simply have to go to the County Clerk's Office together annnnd …." Della flung her hand triumphantly. "Get the license! I'm told they are insanely busy we, _I_," Della said looking down at him and rolling her eyes. "Should call first thing in the morning and make an appointment—not L.A. if we want any privacy at all…"

Della was looking down concentrating, lips pursed and a scowl on her pretty face.

"Since we love Laguna Beach so much, I vote for Orange County, as you know the Clerk's Office is conveniently located in downtown Santa Ana," Della purposely sounding like she was doing a commercial was smiling now but still quite engrossed in her notes.

"You need to call a judge to perform the ceremony, which I was thinking we could do at Old Orange!"

"Miss Street, you have this all worked out, don't you?" Della had obviously put a lot of time and thought into this, which after years of turning him down both surprised and thrilled him.

"We're in court Thursday and Friday so that leaves tomorrow…hmmm…" Della was scowling again as she reviewed their calendar.

Perry was leaning on his side with his head on his fist, wide eyed and totally mystified.

"What?" Dellas asked then her lips pursed and stared at him down her shoulder.

"I'm speechless…"

"Well, it had to happen sometime, ha, ha, ha," she mugged in that whiskey voice, leaning down, kissing him on the nose.

Perry just laughed and shook his head at the rejuvenation of Della Street.

Della suddenly stopped and looked down sadly, "Perry do you think now is the right time?"

"Della Katherine Street! Perry sat up, angry.

"No, dear, just tell me that it's okay to stop everything in the middle of a preliminary hearing to get married…"

"Della, we have given our lives to our clients, both of us. We have given up things for this work and I wouldn't change most of it. But you have agreed to be my wife, a thing I have waited for a very long time, and I am not willing to delay that for anything—anything or anyone."

Della exhaled, nodded and carried on with her notes. "Now we can do this off the record or on the record. The difference is in the way we file the paperwork."

Perry had laid back down. "Ladies choice but I, for one, would very much like my love for you to be on the record."

"I concur, Counselor."

"Della?" Perry said grabbing her notebook and shaking it gently in her direction.

"It's time. That's all. And I was…well, if you hadn't asked me…" Della puckered her lips and looked down, then met his eyes chin up. "_I _was about to ask _you_."

Heaving himself up, Perry reached over and pulled her to him, her head against his chest. Stroking her skin he could feel the goose bumps all over her, she had been running naked around the house and then had been sitting in bed, those incredible legs drawn up and crossed, reading him her notes still completely naked. This was not like Della Street, and his Miss Street could be cold in a cashmere blazer, turtleneck, and scarf.

Reaching down to pull the covers up over them he tucked the blanket around her slender shoulders.

"Are you sure this is how you want to do it?"

"In court, with a judge, how else would _we_ do it?"

"On the beach at the beach house, in a little chapel or at home here with a few friends and family…" Perry offered.

"Our love has always been so private Perry. This is just for us, no one else." Della wrapped her arms around one of his now.

"I don't want to tempt fate but …" he was just going to come out and ask it. "Why now, baby?"

"We have time now and we've been together almost half a century," Della stopped hot tears starting to choke her, "And then…Oh, Perry… All of those months back and forth to the hospital, doctors' offices, the ER trips in the middle of the night—and every time, every damn time, no matter where we went they asked me if I was your wife… Why would they ask?

Sometimes I just lied and said I was but…suddenly not being your wife seemed like being complicit in perpetrating some terrible crime…against ourselves!"

Della's sobs came fast and violent now, seemingly out of nowhere, certainly out-of-control.

"Beautiful girl," he pulled them down deeper into the bed. "Beautiful girl."

There was no stopping her now. She had, as always been so strong through his illness, facing things he never even knew about; and never would.

"Baby," Perry rocked her back and forth now. "Baby… We'll fix it all tomorrow, okay?"

Della finally calmed down after a long while in Perry's arms.

"We'll exchange the matching pinky rings we gave each other."

"That's fine for now."

"No, that's all we need, Perry."

"No, Della. They are fine short term. But you are going to have a proper engagement ring and I _want_ a wedding band and I want one on your finger, too."

"Then everyone will know," Della said reaching across Perry for the Kleenex.

"Yes, Della. Yes they will. Everyone will know that we have loved one another for nearly 50 years. And we will have a lot of explaining to do. Or when they ask we'll just say that we've just decided to start wearing our rings and leave it at that."

Perry took the Kleenex out of her hand, wiping Della's eyes and nose.

"Blow."

"Perry!" Della chuckled.

"Blow!"

"Yessir…" Della did as she was told. "Okay, for Christmas. How about we make them our Christmas present to one another?"

"Fine idea." Perry was supremely please, especially since it was just two months away.

"I know what I want…"

"What is it Miss Street?"

"A honeymoon; a real, old-fashioned honeymoon, the kind 25 year olds have."

"Niagra Falls?"

"God no!"

"Bless you. Warm and tropical or old, cold and Continental?"

"Warm, tropical and not too far away."

"I know what you want…" Della smiled at him. He knew. "Someone wants to go back to Hawai'i. May I?"

"I insist," said Della knowing how he loved planning their trips.

Perry stretched a long arm out and grabbed their calendar from the pile of papers she had left on their bed. Turning to October, he moved onto November and finally December.

"Your task, Miss Street, and yes I'm using that so frequently because it is about to become obsolete…"

Della started laughing loudly now.

"Is to get your pretty self on the phone after our wedding tomorrow and start canceling every single thing on this calendar from here, Perry said pointing to the day after Thanksgiving, "To here." His graceful finger landed on January 2nd.

"Perry!"

"No arguments Miss Street…" Perry said sternly with his jaw set. When he looked at her his eyes had softened, "Della, we've earned it. We're tired and we've had a rotten year."

"We've had a great year," Della said the tears finding her again.

"How do you figure?"

"If it hadn't been for that accident they would never have found it and…" Della was gone again.

"You are right, Della. We got very lucky." Perry wouldn't let her go.

"Are you sure no flowers, no friends?"

"No," she said trying hard to catch her breath to stop torturing the poor man with her incessant tears. "Just us my love."

"Okay, if we're doing this the old-fashioned way, I want you to have a trousseau before we go away. We will go together after this damn hearing ends because I want to watch you try on all of the pretty things," Perry said in a weird little voice accompanied by a strange smile.

"You're scaring me!" Della laughed at him. "Besides I don't need…"

"Dammit Miss Street, after 40-odd years, I _will_ buy you a trunk full of clothes and unmentionables and you _will_ like it. Good God, woman."

"Yes, dear," Della pretended to hide under the covers.

"That's better. As your husband, I will expect no more of this stifling of gifts."

"You're getting pretty demanding already, aren't you Counselor?" Della said from under the sheet.

"You don't know the half of it my dear. I'm going to be _very _demanding," Perry starting stroking her in some _very_ out-of-the-way-places.

"Oh, I see… well, I'll be looking forward to that!"

"What are you going to wear tomorrow?"

"Let's see….what did Bette Davis say in "All About Eve"? 'Something simple, a fur coat over a nightgown.'"

"I like the sentiment …"

"Actually I bought a new pink suit a few weeks ago just for this occasion."

"Pretty sure of yourself young lady," Perry smiled. "And what shall I wear?"

"If you'll look on my side of the closet—and I'm frankly surprised you didn't spy it before now—you'll find a Norton & Sons garment bag with a new silver-gray cashmere and silk suit and a crisp shirt in the very palest pink I had made for you for our wedding. It will be perfect with your gray and pink striped tie."

"Della Street it takes 8 weeks for them to make my suits and a good week to get them here from London. How long have you been planning this?"

"Longer because they had to send the samples first so I could pick the materials," Perry was stroking the soft skin between her breasts now. "I started in earnest when the tests came back saying it was gone."

Perry dipped his head down and parted her lips with his. Sometimes his limitations in making love to Della saddened him. But _most_ of the time making love to her was the only thing that made him feel young. Slowly he felt Della's hands start to explore familiar territory.

"Darling…a half an hour ago? I don't think…" Having just made love to her so ferociously he knew it was unlikely he could be ready again so soon or even tonight.

Before he could finish, Della placed her kips over his, loving the contrast between his incredibly soft almost feminine mouth and the rough, masculine edges of his beard.

"How many times do I have to tell you, my love. I have always considered the end our lovemaking the '_anti_-climax.' I much prefer the lavishness of everything that comes first. That's why it's so much better now than when we were young, when we couldn't even make it through five minutes."

Perry smiled at her.

"You've always been too kind a woman, Della."

"I'm not being kind, just honest and maybe…a little spoiled. I've never heard of another man who takes such delight in the pleasure of his partner. I confess I don't have much experience in this department…"

"Thank you."

Della laughed, "But I suspect, and from what I've heard from other women, you are a rarity."

With such encouragement, Perry Mason surprised himself.

But not Della.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A FEW MORE CHAPT'S TK this weekend.**_

_**Wednesday, September 8, 1993, Old Orange County Courthouse, Santa Ana, California**_

Los Angeles' offering to two of its more famous residents who had contributed so much to the legend of the city, was a perfectly splendid morning for their wedding. Della had been doing most of their driving the last few years, between his knee and other illnesses, so she was about to get in the driver's seat of the Mercedes when he stopped her.

"I'm the man, it's our wedding day, I'm driving, Miss Street."

"You certainly are the man, Chief," Della rolled her eyes, tucking her chin coyly under her shoulder an obvious reference to last night…and this morning.

"Yes, connubial bliss seems to agree with me," Perry smiled smugly, quite proud of himself.

"Masher! A poor unsuspecting girl tries to take a shower and on her wedding day no less," Della was flirting shamelessly with him, running her hand up and down his thigh.

"Miss Street if you keep that up, you should pardon the expression, we are going to have to pull over."

"No time. We have an appointment with the clerk at 11AM and the Judge at noon."

"I didn't ask, I'm sorry. Do you want the top up?"

"Perry Mason how many times do I have to tell you? I'm a rag top…"

"I know, you're a rag top girl! I just thought your hair, the wedding…"

"Thank you, dear, but as you know my hair is pretty indestructible." Della laughed.

Reaching for her hand Perry started cursing.

"Dear, on our wedding day?"

"Bucket seats should be outlawed. I wonder if I could get it through Supreme Court somehow. Teenagers would certainly support my efforts."

"You _are_ a big teenager," Della laughed and shook her head, the wind ruffling her curls.

Perry smiled, "You used to slide over next to me, remember? Even before we knew what was going on between us. Then when we'd be out on a case you'd fall asleep on my shoulder, cuddled against my chest... like a little kitten."

Della just looked at him, and rolled her eyes laughing, ever astonished by Perry Mason.

If anyone else heard him call her a kitten they would likely have fainted dead away. But that's who he was, really, even if she was the only one in the world who knew it. That was the real Perry Mason, a true lover not a fighter; considerate beyond reason both in and out of bed. Fiendishly demanding and often cold at work—where, it was her opinion, he had every right to be demanding and distance at work was the only way he could cover his feelings for her, which had no place in the office—but affectionate, generous and loving in their personal life.

"I want a car like that again."

Della just smiled knowingly and leaned in as close to him as the cup holders, music jacks, map pockets and whatever the Hell else car makers put in their now, would allow.

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They had gotten their license quickly but even in Orange County, nothing could truly be secret. Once word got around the building there were more than a few well-wishers. Della and Perry had been in the business for more than half a century both having started at other firms before finding one another at Perry Mason Attorney-at-Law and had, over the decades, gotten to know quite a few people. And everyone else knew _them_.

Uncharacteristically Perry welcomed their good wishes warmly, with huge grins, handshakes and kisses for the ladies. Della shyly hid behind his bravado, enjoying seeing him so happy. Although he had been asking for decades Della didn't realize how important this was to him; now it was painfully clear. This morning over breakfast, when she tearfully expressed that remorse about waiting so long, Perry disabused her of the notion.

"No, Della. You were right to turn me down when we were younger. I don't think any two people have loved each other as much as we have but as much as we have loved each other," Perry paused, thoughtful, "It hasn't been easy, has it?"

Della shook her head.

"Always worried about public opinion, the firm and I have certainly had my, oh I guess most head shrinks would call them, _demons_. I _will_ admit that since that madwoman nearly killed you, becoming your husband has been on my mind constantly."

"Soooo...yooooou...ran away to San Francisco?"

"See what I mean about the demons?" Perry have her his impish smile, the one she loved so much and that _got_ him out of so much.

"Eat your eggs we're going to be late."

"My darling, if it doesn't have a yolk, it's not an egg." Della gave him a stern look. "And boy is this egg white omelette delicious!" Actually, Perry hated to admit, but it was; only Della Street soon-to-be Mason could make a bowl of relatively taste-free albumen taste this good.

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Della and Perry walked, hand-in-hand, into the beautiful, orange brick fortress that was the Old County Courthouse in Santa Ana. They had driven over from the County Clerk to meet an old friend, Judge Walter Stone, who was going to marry them. The Courthouse, a turn-of-the-century example of Romanesque Revival, had been the beneficiary of a complete restoration last year. Perry and Della sat on the committee that raised funds for the massive undertaking and at the soiree to re-open it as a museum, were quite pleased with the work that had been done.

Now they were here to get married and Perry had to admit that, as usual, Della was very wise about how and where to do this. It was entirely their day, which he greatly appreciated.

There was one person Perry would have wanted there and hopefully he was somewhere with a martini, a cigarette and a beautiful blonde on his arm still keeping watch over them. Since he couldn't be here, Perry was surprised that Della didn't want his son there, her son too really, with his wife Kelly Burger, the daughter of their old friend and nemesis, Hamilton.

"Perry Mason and Della Street, well, well, well."

"Good afternoon, Judge Stone. How have you been? How is Mrs. Stone?"

"We are very well thank you and Willa should be here any minute. How is he Della?"

"Full recovery and he's doing splendidly, thank you," on tip toes Della gave the old judge, who was still a string bean, a kiss on his weathered cheek.

"Wherever did you find me?" the old judge looked at Perry.

"Well, that's my secret but it wasn't without a half dozen calls, sir. But you were the only one I wanted to marry us, Your Honor."

"It is my privilege, although I have to ask, what in _**the**_ Hell took you two so long? I thought after that talking to Willa and I gave you in 1964…oh well…There she is!" Judge Stone indicated a sweet-faced woman of similar age.

"Mrs. Stone!" Della met her halfway up the hall and the two embraced warmly.

"I think you have reached the age where you can call me, Willa, don't you dear?" Willa Stone patted the younger woman's cheek and linked her arm with Della's. "You know after that talk we gave you, two, so many years ago I hoped this would have happened sooner."

"It's my fault, Mrs….Willa… All my fault. Perry has asked me several times a year for more than 40 years. This time I said yes and," she leaned in conspiratorially, "shocked the heck out of him! I don't think he's recovered yet."

"I'll just bet you did. Come here my growing boy," Willa Stone pulled Perry down into a big hug.

"Mrs. Stone…" Perry's eyes were glistening.

"And you are definitely old enough to call me Willa!" Willa Stone laughed. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm doing incredibly well young lady. My child bride," Perry pulled Della over by her elbow, "Means to keep me around for a long time."

"What are you now, in your 60s?" Willa winked at Perry.

"Madam, I'll have you know that I am a grand old gent of 76 and Della," he turned to look at his blushing bride whose eyes were wide, "Remains 39…to me anyway."

Perry kissed Della.

"Ha! That's nothing is it, Willa?" The judge laughed heartily. "I turned 95 this year and I'm too much of a gentleman…"

"90!" interrupted his wife. "I turned 90! You kids have a long way to go."

Della held onto Perry tightly and turned slightly away, crying. Perry turned her back toward him, brushing the curls from her forehead, mostly because he just loved to do that.

"Willa, let's leave Perry and Della to get ready. We'll be in the courtroom when you kids are ready to go!"

"Cold feet?" he smiled kindly; it was the time to take care of her for a change.

Della just shook her head and leaned her forehead against his chest. "Absolutely not; it's just that … it goes so quickly. I can't help but feel… Perry, I love you so much."

Della was holding on to his arms, her grip so strong it shocked him.

"Della, we have many years left together and I promise that I will do everything that I can to insure that that's true. Now, are you finally ready to marry me?"

Della pursed her lips and smiled, eyes twinkling.

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Willa met them just outside with an enchanting bouquet for Della. "Now I know how you are, dear, but every woman should carry flowers at her wedding. This is just a little nosegay of cut flowers from my gardens, some sweet peas and peonies, some tea roses, and, of course, some orchids for your husband. Good thing I picked pinks!"

Della had tears in her eyes when she leaned down and gave the old woman a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you…I… these are lovely. Now I feel like a bride!"

Then Willa grabbed Perry and turned him to her, almost knocking him off his cane.

"This is for you, young man," said Mrs. Stone pinning a pale pink orchid boutonniere on him then standing back to admire it. "My! Isn't that handsome. You know, not many men could pull off a pink orchid!"

Perry and Della started to laugh.

When they walked into the courtroom, they were immediately taken aback by the banks of flowers on the judge's bench.

"Willa!"

"No dears, it wasn't me!"

During the restoration a great deal of the budget had been spent on refinishing the miles of woodwork in the place and it paid off. From the walls, to the lawyers' tables and the gallery and, especially the ornate, carved judge's bench, the antique paneling shined. The elegant old chandeliers and lamps dating back almost 100 years had been beautifully refurbished and today they were all wrapped in ropes of pale pink roses. The bench was covered with potted orchids, vases filled with fresia, more sweet peas and peonies and big bundles of hydrangea sat in jars on the floor.

"Who did all of this?" Perry said turning to the Judge.

"I can't say, Perry. It was just here; knowing you, we thought you arranged it." Perry turned to Della but missed the wink she exchanged with the Judge.

Perry and Judge Stone had worked out the parts of the ceremony and wedding vows they would keep and the parts they would avoid. There would, of course, be no obeying, although Perry really did want to leave that in for laughs. Perry told the old Judge that his bride wanted no mention of death parting them and that they had worked out a phrase upon which she had insisted, that paid tribute to the decades of their love that preceded this day.

"Shall we?" said the Judge. "Mr. Mason, I do believe that this will be the least you have ever said in a courtroom!"

"Don't tempt the fates, Your Honor," warned a chuckling Della.

Perry grabbed her and pulled her close, kissing her curls. Staring deep into each other's eyes, Perry turned Della gently toward him and took her hands in his.

Judge Stone cleared his throat and asked, "Shall we began?"

At that moment the sweet strains of an accomplished violinist could be heard playing "The Bridal Chorus" from Lohengrin and a handsome young man in a tuxedo appeared, walking slowly up the left side of the room. Della and Perry turned to one another then shook their heads. When the Bridal March was finished, the violinist segued into a divine version of Vivaldi's "Danza Pastorale" from The Four Seasons, making both Perry and Della, who lived for music, tear up.

A woman who looked to be in her mid-70s, heavily made up with a pile of blonde curls on her head walked up behind them.

"Gertie!" Della and Perry both exclaimed in unison.

"You should know, Della Street, I was a friendly girl…made lots of friends everywhere. Three people called me this morning after you made that appointment. That's my genius son, by the way." Gertie said, indicating the extremely talented violinist.

Della and Perry just smiled, happy to see their old colleague again. Perry leaned over and gave her a kiss.

"Mr. Mason!" Gertie said, blushing.

Smiling, Judge Stone continued the ceremony, "Who gives this bride away?"

Perry started to motion to the Judge, after all he was 95...

"Her son does!"

Perry turned and there was Paul, Jr. who had come up on Della's right and was standing next to her.

Paul kissed Della on the cheek and held her for a moment. "Thank you for," Paul started to cry, "For everything you've done for me. You've been a _great_...mother. No one could have been better."

Della held him, crying now. Perry rubbing her back, leaned over to take his Godson's hand but pulled him into a hug.

When he let go, all three of them were crying.

"I hope you liked the flowers," he whispered.

Della gasped and kissed him again. "They're beautiful, dear. Thank you."

Paul stepped back just behind them, with his wife Kelly Burger-Drake next to him.

Judge Stone, who would admit to his wife later that it was all he could do not to get weepy, led Perry through his vows, which he managed splendidly despite his tears. When Perry finished, the Judge took up with Della.

"I, Della Street take you Perry Mason to be my husband, _continuing_

to have and to hold,

for better or for worse,

for richer, for poorer…"

Della swallowed hard and put her hand on his cheek. "In sickness and in health,

to love and _to cherish_;" Della looked deeply into his eyes,

"_All of the days of my life_."

After the Judge led Della through putting the black onyx pinkie ring she bought him decades ago on his finger, it was Perry's turn. It hadn't occurred to her, in her nervousness, that they were going somewhat out of order. Della realized she hadn't given him her ring but as she started to pull it off, he covered her hand with one of his and withdrew a small, square, black, velvet box from his pocket with the other.

"Perry!"

"Let's see if you remember this…"

Perry opened the box and there was the ring they had seen in the estate case at Cartier's on the Rue de la Paix, more than 20 years ago. He had had it all of these years, she thought to herself. Della had fallen in love with the art deco ring in platinum with a 2 qt. Burmese ruby and 2 qt Kashmir sapphire but when she tried it on and saw the price, she forbid him from buying it. He was disappointed but she laughingly promised him that if they ever got married...

"Rubies," said Perry his voice hoarse and impossibly low. "Which mean passion and fire both of which you have and have inspired in me, in our life, in our love, in our bed and in our work, every day that I've known you.

And sapphires," Perry looked down, "Mean loyalty and fidelity."

Leaning down he kissed her slim fingers, "Please," he said his voice almost gone now, those lapis eyes like two distant earths, fixed on her, "Please forgive me my darling."

Crying Della put her hand on his cheek and held his forehead to hers, "A very long time ago my love. A _very_ long time ago."

After he gave them some time, the Judge continued,"Your turn, Mr. Mason."

Perry slid the ring on her tiny finger, trying as hard as he could to maintain his composure while saying words that he realized meant more to him than any he had ever said before.

"With this Ring…

I thee wed…

with my body I thee _worship_…" Perry stepped in closer to her and held her hand on his cheek, Della leaned in, her forehead against his chest.

and with all my _life_ I thee endow." All he could do for the last line, was whisper it.

"Well, then with all powers that are vested in me by the state of California, I pronounce you...

at last...

husband and wife.

The groom may kiss the bride."

Obviously the Judge's words had given Gertie's son an idea and with a sly smile on his face, he began playing, "At Last." Della and Perry just stood holding one another for a long time.

Perry who had still not kissed his bride, encircled her waist with one arm, took her hand in the other and began to dance with her. Della, chin up, smiled at Perry, following his strong lead with grace.

When Perry leaned in to give Della their first kiss as husband and wife, he never missed a step, stopping long enough to hold her lips against his in a passionate kiss, his hands on her cheeks, then picking up the dance again. There was not a dry eye in the room. But, as ever, Perry and Della didn't even know anyone else was in the room.

They would never discuss it and yet, they could see it reflected in each other's eyes; this was a kiss unlike any other. Perry recalled their very first kiss in 1952, the kiss he promised himself he would always remember and now he had its mate.

"I _do worship you, you know?"_

"I do. And do you know that you really _are_ my one and only love?"

"I know," Perry smiled.

"No...I mean it, Perry," Della dropped her head and looked up at him through her lashes, only the slightest trace of a smile on her face.

Perry stopped, trying to read her lovely face. Tipping his head toward her as if questioning what he thought he might have heard.

"Yes. Only you."

"But there were others, I know there were and you weren't...without knowledge...I...just assumed..."

There was that word, that give away word! "Assuming again," Della chuckled softly. "Of course I wasn't without knowledge I was 30! But I am on record as enjoying a certain kind of ...literature as guilty pleasure.," Della batted her lashes.

"That's why..." Perry trailed off and Della nodded.

"And there were plenty of... other things that I did. And, of course, you, Mr. Mason, were quite an inspiration once we _were_ in bed...soooo many things I had wanted to do for _soooo_ long," Della's deep voice had dropped on the first 'so' and as she ran her hands up and down his sides he was in serious danger of repeating his earlier predicament.

"But it has _only_ ever been _you_."

Perry was completely without words, tears streaming from his eyes. Pulling her into him he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, protecting her from everyone else around them, giving her the privacy she deserved. Except that everyone, sensing they needed to be alone, had left. With his other arm he pulled her hand up and put it on his chest, then circled that arm around her until he had her in what she used to teasingly call "The Perry Cocoon." There was nothing like it in the world.

They stayed that a log, long time, Perry whispering things to her that only they would ever know.

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When Perry and Della finally emerged there was a crowd of not just their little family but most of the building, all cheering.

Uncharacteristically magnanimous, Perry laughed offering Della in front of him to the crowd and when he bowed she laughed uproariously and made quite a curtsy!

"I haven't done that since I was 10!" she said.

Perry invited their group to lunch. When they declined out of politeness he changed tactics, _informing_ everyone that they were being taken to lunch. Walking to the car, everyone chattering happily over each other, Perry stopped short causing Gertie to slam face-first into his back.

There it was; his car!

Right outside the door was a black 1958 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz convertible with an enormous white bow tied diagonally across it.

It was his car! And someone had lovingly restored this gem, from the gleaming new paint and chrome, to the perfect black interior and Saber wheels.

"The AC is factory condition and works wonderfully my love. It's won awards, too! I have the paperwork for it back home including the restoration receipts. It also has a tri-power engine and an autronic eye system...both _from the factory. _This means something, Della said laughingly to Kelly.

"What's an...au..tronic eye?" She asked Della putting her arm through hers.

"Oh, Dear...that just means the headlights switch from high to low beams..."

"Huh...Gee, you always did know everything Aunt Della..."

"I had to, to keep up," she whispered to Kelly behind the back of her hand. "I have to go rescue him, Dear, I think he's in shock."

"By the way, Dear," Della called over he shoulder with a mischievous look in her eye, "When are you due?"

"Aunt Della!"

Kelly looked over at Paul who standing there, one hip out just like Della always stood, hands in his pockets just smirked and shrugged.

Laughing, Della walked up to her husband, "And less than 500 miles since restoration-_a lot_ less than me! It's my wedding gift to you, my love."

Della grinned widely at him, her chin up, arms clasped behind her back. Perry hadn't moved a muscle, he had just wanted to stare at it, so she took his arm and walked him over to the driver's side. Everyone standing around was giggling, especially Paul and Gertie. Poor Perry still couldn't move, he just stood and stared.

Finally, "Della Street-Mason?"

"Yeees?"

"You are going to need a raise."

"Oh, yes," Della nodded in agreement. "Yes I am."

"Just tell me…"

"Absolutely not! You know anyway. Besides you bought our house."

"Della, this is as expensive as a house."

"You're telling me," she laughed, her eyes widening.

"Della..."

"Just shut up and get in and take me to lunch. Getting married makes a girl hungry."

"Mrs. Mason?" Perry was standing, hands clasped in front of him, cane over his arm.

"Yes, Mr. Mason?"

"Remember all of those things I used to do to you in this car?" Everyone standing around started to laugh.

"Mr. Mason, why else do you think I would spend that kind of money?" The laughter grew.

"Mrs. Mason?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason?"

"I've thought up some new stuff since then."

Perry threw his cane in the back seat, opened the door and swept Della into the car.

"See kids," Della called to Paul and Kelly, "This is why my husband is going to succeed in making bucket seats illegal!"

She scooted over just enough for Perry to get in then cuddled right up against him, her head on his chest. Paul and Kelly just shook their heads and laughed. As soon as he started the motor he broke out into an enormous grin.

"Listen to that…it purrs just like you!"

"Oh, listen, you! I am not taking second billing after this overgrown toaster!"

Perry laughed as he backed up.

"You brought it on yourself, Mrs. Mason!" Perry turned the wheel his face as excited as Della had ever seen it.

"Pops! The keys," Paul, who had brought the car and was to take their car back, called after them.

Perry jammed on the breaks and hoisted them up and behind him right into Paul's hands.

"Ow!"

"See you at the restaurant! Maybe…"

"Do you think we'll actually see them there," asked Willa Stone.

"Not if they're anything like they were back in the day," said Gertie.

"What were they like?" asked Kelly, her otherwise pragmatic eyes momentarily clouded by the romance of the day.

"Oh, I don't want to tell you the number of times I had to cool my heels outside in the hallway and pretend to come back in when I thought they were…finished. Only _they just never finished_. " Gertie's squeaky voice dragged out the end of the sentence for emphasis.

Paul turned beet red and Kelly giggled behind her hand.

"And I can't tell you the variety and number of undergarments I discreetly picked up and hid for them to find themselves over the years. Your father and I," Gertie turned to Paul, "Never could figure out who they thought they were fooling. He spent a lot of time out in the hall, too, more than me even. He used to ask me, 'Gertie what is he _doing_ to that girl?' We never did know but we were both jealous.

The first few years when they didn't touch each other," Gertie sighed. "Those were some tough years for the rest of us. They were so much in love but they wouldn't give in and sometimes you could see the weight of it on them. Your father used to joke and say, 'Watch it! Don't step between them, you'll trip on their love.'"

"It's still like that," said Paul quietly.

"Then one Monday morning, it was just a few days before Christmas 1952 the air around the place was just _different_; something had happened you could tell. He was _happy_ for one thing, which has _never_ been a trait of his and Della, Della was ...just _different_. I don't know. I never did have a lot of words.

They came in after me-I think it was the only time that ever happened. I was coming out of the law library and Della was hanging his overcoat on the stand and, just as I had seen her do a thousand times I think, she held it against her cheek, eyes closed, for just a few seconds before she hung it up. Only this time he caught her and I thought, 'Oh thank goodness, maybe he'll do something about this poor girl.'

Clearly he already had because he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders then turned her to him. Della was blushing and smiling, 'Gotcha,' he said and laughed. I'd never seen him smile like that before. This big grin that made him look like a little boy-a scary little boy. She just hit him on the shoulder. Then, and I'll never forget this because...it was like watching a great movie ...he put a single finger under her chin and tipped her face up toward him. She looked horrified and started to say something but he put a finger from his other hand over her lips. Then she just disappeared in his arms and into his kiss. I swear I thought I was going to pass out they were so romantic."

Everyone was standing mute, heads tipped, totally engrossed, including the three men.

"And they were so, so beautiful then; both of them. Everywhere they went cameras snapped and for good reason. Just being them they looked the way movie stars worked so hard to look. But staying single all of that time, working together," Gertie laughed now, "Really who did they think they were kidding?

From that day on everyone around the place was much happier and stayed that way for 25 years. Even though we had loads of work and had just had a holiday lunch that Saturday, Mr. Mason wanted to take us all out again on Tuesday and then...he wanted to close up until the next Monday! We'd never done anything like that! That office never closed. Until it did...those were some very dark days; the worst. But I knew that they'd find their way back to one another. It was just meant to be.

Those two…well, you will never even _hear_ about any other two people who are that much in love."

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Della had to force Perry to go to the restaurant. Nothing but a little boy, really, he wanted to drive his new toy. Then he wanted to find a quiet, secluded place to re-create some history. But when Della whispered what she had in mind for him later he relented.

"I would never have bought this for myself, much as I may have wanted it. Never."

Della snuggled close, his arm around her shoulder, her hand on his thigh making circles with a finger. "I know. That's what made it so much fun. Took me months to talk him out of it. Paul had to finish the paperwork this morning and bring it down."

"I see!"

"I would never have married without our Wondering Boy, Jr. by our side," Della smiled, getting tearful again. "I'm glad I had the presence of mind to buy waterproof mascara."

"I think we have to accept that we are going to be, both of us, in a constant state of tears until we come back from our honeymoon-and even then, young lady..."

"Kelly's pregnant, you know?"

"No kidding! Now how would I know that unless my wife told me. That is not an area in which I excel."

""I'm going to be a grandma!" Della was extremely pleased.

"And a beautiful one at that...grandma and a newlywed bride all in the same year!" If it was possible, Della snuggled in closer, her hand, accidentally of course, moving higher up.

At a stoplight, Perry turned and brought Della into an unexpectedly passionate kiss, eliciting a moan from her.

"That hand that just migrated north from my thigh is making things very...difficult for me."

"Yes, I see that," she pursed her lips.

"Now what do we do?" Perry was laughing at their predicament.

Della surveyed the landscape. "Too bad it's a convertible," she said pointing at the "Automatic Car Wash" sign across the street.

"Della!" Perry was bent over the steering wheel now, Della leaning on his back, both of them nearly hysterical.

"Well young man you are just going to have to exercise some self-control! Or...I could...take care of things... as discreetly as possible."

"I am not 16, thank you and besides that is no way to waste it at my age!" They both started laughing again. They drove around a little more while Della called to mind images designed to help him... recover.

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At lunch he was allowed to eat and drink whatever he wanted, and proceeded to honor his bride by sticking almost exclusively to his healthy regime. There was some vintage champagne and a slice of the scrumptious wedding cake that had been Kelly Burger-Drake's gift but other than that he was firm. After he ordered Della stroked his knee under the table and turned to him with tears in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I am not leaving a gorgeous, wealthy widow behind to be snapped up by one of her many admirers," Perry laughed.

Della didn't, "Don't."

"I'm kidding, young lady," Perry shielded her behind his arm again and rocked her gently, "I'm sorry. I promise you a 10th wedding anniversary.."

"At the _very_ least…"

"At the very least."

Mixing up the orders when he brought the food, the waiter asked who ordered the roasted salmon on a bed of lentils.

"My wife and I," said Perry, who stopped and immediately looked down. How easily that phrase, an unrehearsed answer to an unexpected question, tumbled down from his mind to his mouth.

Della leaned in and wrapped her arms around one of his.

"Is it because we're old?" she giggled.

Perry just shook his head, "Don't know."

"It's different though," Della's eyes twinkled.

"In the best, most unexpected way; but yes, yes it is," even Perry was surprised.

When Perry got up to take care of the bill, Della took his hand and went with him excusing herself to the ladies' room.

"That was a beautiful cake, young lady," said Mrs. Stone once they had departed.

"I wish it could have been more," said Kelly as Paul grabbed her hand. "They were so, so good to mom and us kids when dad died. He was still young, only 48, and a civil servant you know? And there were four little mouths to feed. They came to the house the day before he passed away bringing hampers full of food. Della went in to see dad while Perry tried to console the four of us just talking to us kindly and gently.

Then he went in while Della made lunch for us all and cared for us in the most….loving way, like our own mom, really. It was amazing. She called mom every day after dad died. Long after everyone else disappeared, when the pain was actually just starting to take hold of her, Della would call like clockwork.

Perry was in with dad quite a while and as he was leaving dad's room Mom overheard Perry say, "C'mon, you'll be here to dance at Kelly's wedding. You get some rest now and I promise they will never have to worry.'

We never did."

"Well," said Perry to the assembled group, trying to pretend he hadn't heard the back half of her tale, "We are going to go now and consummate our marriage."

"Perry Mason!" Della screamed as she came up behind him.

"What? I get to say things like that now."

"No, you get to think things like that now. You don't get to say them. I will be driving as you, my husband, have obviously had too much champagne."

Everyone walked out to their cars, led by Mr. and Mrs. Mason, when they heard a waiter calling after them.

"Mr. Mason…Mr. Mason…your wife's flowers," he called after them.

"I don't think I'll ever grow tired of that, Perry," Della was tearing up again.

Just like a young girl, thought Perry, Della ran back to grab her flowers.

"Thank you so much," said Della breathlessly.

"No, thank you and please thank your husband for that truly unbelievable tip. He said he wanted us to remember this day forever and I can guarantee you that we will!"

Della hugged the young man and ran back to her husband, relaying the message with a kiss, both of which clearly pleased him.

Paul was to take their other car back but while he, Judge Stone and Gertie's son, Trevor, looked over Perry's new Cadillac, Della saw something extremely odd sticking up from the back seat of the SL so she wandered over to investigate.

Once she got near the car she could see what it was as she proceeded to inch up slowly. Standing near the door and leaning in, she just closed her eyes and sighed. Della Street Mason crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head.

"Perry?" Della called out.

Perry Mason walked over to where his wife stood staring into the back seat of their convertible, a scowl on her pretty face.

"Who's that?" asked her husband.

"Don't know."

"Is he dead?"

"Mm hmm." Della nodded in the affirmative.

"On our wedding day?" Perry asked.

"In our car," Della confirmed.

Paul walked up behind them, slowly removing his sunglasses.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Don't know," answered the Masons in unison.

"Is he dead?"

"Mm hmm." They answered together once again.

"Even on your wedding day," Paul said resigned to the reality of the Masons' life and his life with them.

"In our car," they said jointly.

Kelly Burger-Drake came over to the perplexed little group.

"Huh," she said matter-of-fact. "Dead groom, back seat of the newlyweds' car…must be Perry Mason and Della Street."


	5. Chapter 5

**There are a few nods to the series throughout this story. **

_**Wednesday, September 8, 1993, Herman's Blue Lagoon, Laguna Beach, California**_

After the police arrived and everyone gave statements, it was determined that Perry and Della's Mercedes would be impounded until forensics could scour it.

"With forensics as brutally advanced as they are today, I think we'll be lucky to get back a few scraps of leather and a hub cap. We may have to get you a new car."

"Oh, we'll have to get me a new car alright," Della rolled her eyes.

"I thought you were used to dead bodies, Mrs. Mason," Perry chuckled.

"There's 'used to' and there's _used_ to, my own true. And blood on my nice leather seats…uh uh…" Della started to laugh.

Perry watched closely as detectives, who had just arrived, started to question the new bride; married so short a time that she didn't even make it to her wedding luncheon.

"Not a word, young lady. Not a word until you get a lawyer," Perry sidled over and whispered to her.

Back at her side, Perry put his arm around Della, pulling her close and kissing her in a way that was just a little too sensual for the surroundings and moment.

"Uh…Mr. Mason, Miss Street," Jake Brice, a young detective they knew from the city, had stepped over to them but had now decided to concentrate on his shoes for a while.

Della just looked at Perry with her lips pursed.

"What are you doing down here, Jake? How's your father?"

"Fine thank you, Mr. Mason. They're short-handed in Laguna—not many murders here and Irvine has their own troubles. So they call L.A. homicide when one does pop up."

"I see."

"Should we send the report over to Miss Street? I mean, they were under the impression over there that you were going to counsel the bride."

"No idea but send them along, to the attention of _Mrs. Mason_."

"I, uh…oh, wow, well congratulations," the young man extended his hand to both of them. "Can't wait to tell dad. You know you two have been the object of speculation…well… you know. See you back in L.A."

"Apparently, we're infamous for a whole new generation," laughed Della. "Nice that we can draw in that younger demographic; good for your street cred."

Perry looked at her for a moment, a serious expression crossing his face, "Della, I forbid the further reading of hard-boiled detective novels for my good woman. Understand?"

"Well," Della feigning coquettishness said, "I don't think I'll be doing much reading in bed for a while. Do you?"

"No, Mrs. Mason, I can promise you that you will not."

Earlier Della had gone over to console the young bride who had been near hysterics at that point. The sympathetic ear of a kind, mature woman who was also a newlywed, might be just the person to get information that might not be forthcoming otherwise. Neither of them had to say it but they both knew: there was not a chance in Hell that this kid accidentally ended up in the car of Perry Mason and Della Street.

Still in a rather cheap tuxedo, rented from the tag still pinned to the inside of his pant cuff, they had married at the nearby Roman Catholic Church that morning. Their wedding pictures were to be taken down by the ocean but the bride and groom had to take separate cars, for some reason that seemed very convoluted to Della, and he never showed up.

"What do you think about the girl, Della?" Perry asked when the detective left.

Della gave a quick shake of her head, her mouth turned down, "Not for my money. She's clean. I can hear them, too, they're already trying to make her for it."

Make her for it? "Hmm… 24 year-olds getting married on a Wednesday morning?" Perry was skeptical.

"Well," Della looked down as she began. "It was the opinion of the young lady's father that the wedding should take place…as soon as possible, shall we say?"

"I see. Loaded up the shot gun; fortunately not a problem we share."

"Never assume, my own true," Della smiled slyly, giving him a sidelong glance.

Perry laughed, "Ahhh…. I wondered why you made this happen so quickly…I think it may have been the shortest engagement on record."

"Ha! That's your _male_ perspective. From where I sit it was the longest!"

Perry guffawed at this. "Yes, I guess it was at that my darling."

"Mmmm… 44 years, worth!" Della snuggled against him. "I've got you now, that's all that matters. I don't like that tux he was wearing."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Sneak back over, take a look. The pants are black but the jacket…the jacket's a very dark blue; _almost_ black but it's not. Doesn't fit right either. Pants seem to fit fine but his sleeves are way too short. Then there's no tie…"

"Probably couldn't wait to get it off… I know how he feels."

"Before the pictures? I don't think so. He wouldn't want to go through the trouble of tyring it again, would you?"

"No, Miss Street, I would not."

"Hey!"

"Sorry but you are very definitely Miss Street right now, thankfully."

Della, feeling quite proud of herself in the face of Perry's praise, hung back so he could do as she suggested and make another pass by the body. As he approached an officer went to cut him off but he quickly introduced himself and mentioned that it was his car they were crawling all over; he just wanted to make sure the car wasn't being harmed.

Della was right; you had to inspect it closely but it was a dark blue but not black. That wasn't his jacket. And where was the tie? Perry loved the woman; loved her more than words could convey, not just personally but professionally. Ever since they had gotten their lives back in 1985—maybe it had something to do with her exceling in another career for nearly a decade, you never knew with Della Street—but ever since then she had really come into her own as an investigator.

They had always marveled at her research skills and her unbelievable intuition about people but her talents for observation were fine-tuned now. Paul would be proud of his "little sister," a relationship he merely settled for, poor guy. In the beginning Paul used to rib him about bringing her along so often on cases, largely because Paul knew he was doing it for personal reasons.

"What guy brings a dame on investigations; and a secretary at that?"

But Della had more than proved her mettle, which Paul grudgingly had to admit within just a few weeks. Then they became a trio and Perry felt that no matter where he put his energies, no matter who he was protecting, that Della and Paul had his back.

Perry knew that they could not have married sooner but he wished that Paul could have been there today so that Perry could show off…and especially so that Perry could have had him standing at his side, at their side, as _their_ best man.

Perry was touched when he saw that Della had thought to bring his picture along. When she set it on the attorney's table behind him they both had tears in their eyes. After Perry's first toast at lunch, which was simply "To My Wife," he wanted to pay homage to the friends that couldn't be there.

Holding his glass aloft, he looked at Kelly and Paul, Jr. and said, "To the people we love who aren't with us today. We thank them especially for the wonderful legacy they left us and we it is with joy, pride and great enthusiasm that we await the next generation of that legacy." Perry winked at Kelly.

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Della knew that Perry had to be getting tired. In fact, if her own fatigue was any indication, he was exhausted.

Approaching their young detective friend, with a smile, she said, "Jake, I really have to get Mr. Mason home."

"Of course, Miss Street…I mean, Mrs. Mason."

"Oh, that's okay, dear. I've been Miss Street for 71 years so…"

"71 years?! You're 71? Wow…" Della was flattered at how shocked the young man looked.

"Well, I didn't think it was possible for anyone to improve on this day," she playfully tapped him on the shoulder.

"Miss..es Mason," Jake laughed, "Do you think at some point I could come and speak with Mr. Mason?"

"Problem, dear?"

"No. Idea. I think I could do better working as a civilian and I thought maybe I could run it by Mr. Mason."

"I'll tell you what," Della was thinking fast now. Paul, Jr. had needed help for a while, but more than help, a partner. "Why don't I set an appointment for you with Mr. Mason and Mr. Drake? Maybe you boys could put your heads together and come up with something."

"Mrs. Mason, I've always heard that you're the brains behind the operation…my superior powers of deduction sense that _you've_ already come up with _something_." Jake was smiling at the stunning bride.

Della just laughed low and called over her shoulder, "You call me at the office on Tuesday morning, dear!"

Perry watched Della walking towards him in that dazzling pink crepe de chine suit. When it was laid out on the bed this morning he was surprised, pleasantly, to see that it was Armani and couture at that; quite unlike Della. The long jacket loosely based on a tuxedo, was meant to stay closed at the satin lapels, and had soft, sweeping lines. Beneath it in the same seashell pink only Perry knew that she wore a sheer tank that fit her skin so closely he had a very difficult time keeping his hands off her when she put it on this morning, even after their escapade in the shower.

Skirts were slim again, like the pencil skirts she used to wear that made men walk slow and close behind her. Usually she kept hers tailored just below the knee but this one was just ever-so-slightly slightly above. Della could well afford it since her legs hadn't aged a day; long and still slender her thin thighs curved in sexily above her knee, her delicate ankles and the arch of her foot so graceful Perry could never get enough of them.

"Is this the thanks I get? I marry you and immediately you start picking up younger men," Perry was smiling at Della in that way that she knew he was kidding but…

"What if I told you that my womanly wiles, the few I have left, just got us released?"

"Oh. Well…in that case, you have my permission."


	6. Chapter 6

_**September 10, 1993, Los Angeles County Courthouse **_

After Sheila Carlin was freed they both breathed a sigh of relief.

As they were packing up, Della tried to pour him some hot cocoa; it had been quite a challenge to come up with a variety of hot drinks to replace his beloved coffee. Perry kept suggesting a hot toddy, much to her dismay.

Cocoa.

Della Street was nothing if not adorable—and now she was his wife. Not that that had changed all that much these last few days. She had been taking care of him in exactly that same way since the first day they met when she not only forced him to have lunch but sacrificed half of hers—as hungry as she was—because she knew he was even hungrier.

Della was exquisite looking today; her hair loose and curly, make-up bright but subtle. Wearing a simple suit and matching silk blouse in a fetching shade of lavender that almost rivaled pink on her, he had been having trouble keeping his eyes, and hands, off his wife all day. It hadn't helped, of course, that they still hadn't been able to have any sort of honeymoon since Wednesday night they had to prepare for court and Thursday night he and Ken had been digging in their main suspect's office all night. Now the case was over and her closeness was overwhelming.

Perry had enjoyed the secrecy of their relationship and he knew that Della had, too. Mystery was their business, after all, and their mystery had been good _for_ business all of those years.

As a man, however, a greater part of him had spent decades longing to claim her publicly, to hold her, kiss her, touch her whenever and wherever, as his pleasure dictated. Any man who was with Della Street and hid it did have to question his masochistic tendencies. Other men found Miss Della Street just as alluring as he did, of course, as she was almost always the most beautiful woman in the room. Their eyes would follow her everywhere she walked whether she was in court, their building or on the dance floor.

Poor Della had her own issues with what she generously called his "groupies." Over the years the ranks of these ladies had swelled not diminished and they had grown bolder in keeping with the times. But then they were never _were_ shrinking violets. Perry would watch with admiration as each was sweetly, but handily, dispatched by Miss Street when they approached him at parties, benefits and other events.

How much easier it would have been for them to just be married? People didn't want to accept that they were together and content; there had to be a ring or they were fair game. Perry found it the strangest mentality. But he was happy to let _everyone _know now that they were together; for once and for all.

That's what he wanted now—not hot cocoa—and as he told her, he had "been waiting a long time."

The kiss took her by surprise but she fell into it happily, eagerly even.

Later, Della would make him chuckle when she teased him about how shy he had been, calling it a "starter kiss." And it was a sweet, little kiss, chaste with none of the raw sexuality usually inherent in their kisses, even in their 70s. But he liked this kissing in court and planned to do a lot more of it.

Ken had started to duck back into the courtroom to ask Perry a question but stopped short when he saw his bosses, face-to-face in an intense but delicate kiss, spying on them through the door that he left barely cracked. Ken saw that the bailiff was still there, as was the court reporter who had been packing up her things. Both looked shocked.

Ken had never seen them exhibit any affection, whether it was a hug or even a pet name. They called one another by their first names exclusively. Perry held Della's arm when they walked, as gentlemen of his generation did for a lady, and she would put her hand on his back quite often when he was sitting in his chair. That was it. Although it was never mentioned, and he had never been there, he knew they shared a home. But on business trips they had separate rooms and if one ever snuck in to the other's room he never saw it.

Ken and Paul Drake, Jr. had discussed this on several occasions. Ken knew that Paul had practically been raised by Della from the time he was 8 but even he had said that he didn't know much more than Ken.

"Oh, they're together alright," Paul had laughed. "But the only one who saw it, the only one who could tell you what went on and for how long is long gone. "

But _something_ had happened for Perry Mason to kiss Della Street in public like that; and frankly, it could only be one thing. When Perry and Della walked out of the courtroom Ken was waiting with a wry smile on his face, cheeks still a bit red.

"I need that file back, Ken," Perry said sternly, all trace of the softness he had just seen gone.

"I know, boss. I walked back in to give it to you but…uh…" Ken looked down, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

Della started chuckling quietly.

"What?" Perry looked at Ken.

"Nothing, just never…"

"What? Can't a man kiss his wife?" Perry put his arm around Della's waist and pulled her close, kissing her gently again.

People walking by bumped into each other at the sight of Perry Mason and his secretary, part of the woodwork in these parts, kissing in the hallway. Ken completely embarrassed—in a good way—turned from one to the other. If pressed he could not describe the look on their faces. Oh, he had seen them happy, even adoring, but nothing like this.

So, they had finally done it. Ken just hoped his boss wasn't even sicker than he thought and the painful thought must have crossed his face.

"What's wrong, Ken?" Della asked, her worried look now matching his.

"Oh, I'm sorry, nothing, just after all of these years…I just hope everything's okay."

Perry was confused but Della knew instantly and with an enormous smile said, "He's fine, Ken, just fine."

"Go to lunch, your friend is waiting," Perry prompted his young protégé.

"Sure you don't want to join us, Chief?"

"No thanks. I think I speak for Mrs. Mason when I say that we are old and tired and heading back to Laguna Beach to bake in the sun. Am I right, Mrs. Mason?"

"Half right, Mr. Mason. You're old and tired, I'm just tired," Della laughed as she corrected her husband.

Della reached for Ken to give him a peck on the cheek. After, Perry pulled her back close to him.

"Stop it. You don't have extras."

Ken and Della's laughter echoed down the hallway as Ken started off, then turned back to Perry for a quick handshake. Perry pulled him in for a hug then pushed him toward the young lady and on his way.

"Quick let's get the Hell out of here," Perry laughed. "We only have a few days for our pre-Honeymoon then we have to gear up to defend Kayla. What the Hell kind of name is that anyway?"

"Well, not the name of a murderer, dear."

"No, it's not," agreed Perry as they walked to the car, hand-in-hand.


	7. Chapter 7

_**I"M SO SORRY EVERYONE! A few more coming; got sidetracked with another story and...real life! LOL! Thanks for your patience**_

_**Friday, September 10**__**th**__**, 1993, Laguna Beach, CA**_

If they were lucky enough to escape court by 11AM, Della predicted the Friday traffic to Laguna Beach would be manageable. Perry had been stuck searching for evidence with Ken the entire previous night leaving Della to pack for both of them, which was fine since with him out on a case like that she couldn't sleep anyway.

"Della?"

"Hiiii," she said long and slow.

"Don't do that…"

Della laughed, "Wow, you're easy pickings this morning. Tired honey?"

"Exhausted but we did it."

"Of course you did; you always do. How's your knee?"

"Don't ask."

"Well, I've now thoroughly researched those corticosteroid shots and talked us into an appointment next week with the state's foremost specialist. His nurse said he was impressed by your name … with any luck he can alleviate at least some of your pain; it's taking its toll on you."

Della's deep voice at once sexy and pragmatic was comforting.

"On both of us…"

"No. I know you're not angry with me when you snap…usually," Della chuckled softly.

"Wish we didn't have to name drop."

"Where your health is concerned? I didn't even think twice—and you know me."

"Yes."

"I'm not one to complain, as you know Counselor but 'Baby' is getting _very_ lonely and still hasn't had one _hint_ of honeymoon."

"Ken's here …"

"I know and I know that you can't talk," Della snickered. "By the way, that suite is rife with _opportunities_… hot tub on the terrace overlooking the sea, fireplace, giant bathtub …and there's always the bed; a pedestrian choice I'll grant you but effective."

"Interesting..."

"Very private, no worries about disturbing other guests if we are …vocally ambitious… and given the occasion I'd say that that's a distinct possibility."

Della's voice was having its way with him, and his excitement was moving in a distinctly southerly direction.

"Good to note, Miss Street."

"Miss Street, hmm? Does your wife know that you're meeting your secretary at a hotel this weekend?"

"She has her suspicions."

When Perry started clearing his throat, she had him.

"I'm not sure what kind of shape your secretary is going to return you in—I hear that she has plans to violate you in every… possible …way." Della landed on every word.

"Apparently that _seemingly_ innocent girl is planning on holding you prisoner to her needs and desires; which, Counselor, are _ma-ny_."

Perry cleared his throat again unable to believe that this was his Della Street to whom he was speaking. Marriage was definitely loosening up his wife.

"I think she knows that she already does…"

"Oh, no Counselor," Della's laugh rumbled like an impending storm rolling across the fields, "This is _not_ a metaphor…"

Perry could hear her breathing hard and it was driving him, as tired as he was, wild.

"What can I do for _you_?"

Della gave a short hiccup of a laugh. "Oh, ho, ho, Counselor," Della laughed. "If you only knew what I wanted right now."

"Try me," Perry was keeping his voice stern and low in an effort to get away with yet another of their little telephone dalliances without Ken knowing. It was at times like this he didn't mind that Ken seemed a bit dim.

"I want to be in front of that fireplace, naked on my back, looking in your eyes, feeling that enormous…" Della paused, teasing him. "Chest, and your silky hair against… my bare skin. Then I want you to make love to me, for the first time, as your wife and I want…"

But Perry, hoping to save himself serious embarrassment in front of his protégé, interrupted her. "I suspect that's not going to…work."

"It's been working just fine, Counselor, better than fine, in fact."

"I was referring to the geographic location, Miss Street."

Ken stood there wondering what the Hell was going on; all he wanted to do was get a 20 minute catnap at the office.

"You forget that I'm a very handy girl to have around, Mr. Mason. I have surprises in store for you. Our first time; been a long time since we've had one of those."

Realizing just how much she missed him last night she suddenly halted her seduction for a moment, "God it's been a long three days. Can we get this trial over with quickly?"

"Ken and I have seen to that." Perry turned away now, facing the corner. "Done packing?"

"I am. And are you…packing?"

Perry laughed out loud now. "Della, what is your goal?"

"Get the blood moving, make sure you're ready for court…sharp, as it were." Della had started giggling again.

Perry had to hide in the corner now, unable to wipe what he knew was an extremely silly grin off his face.

Ken looked over at Perry and decided to wait in the car, wondering why it hadn't occurred to him sooner.

"Miss Street, no one has ever made me…sharper."

"Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet my friend," Della was sitting on the bed, legs crossed.

Perry heard the door shut and turned to see that Ken had gone; at last.

"And…am I?" Perry sounded small, tired and far away.

"Are you what?"

"Your _friend_."

There was a long silence on the other end, as Della tried to compose herself. Perry never ceased to amaze her; his ability to love her had no limits. But neither did his need for her love.

"Perry," Della's voice was scruffy and unkempt, "You are, and have been since the day we met, my _very best friend_. Everyone says that love and sexual attraction fade." Della laughed and heard Perry laugh, too.

"I know. Maybe it was not being married, or the secrecy…but I, I don't think so, Perry. I think, well I've always thought, that the best part of us was our friendship. The _moment_ I met you—and in my mind it's as if it happened yesterday—I knew that you were going to be my favorite person in the whole world."

"I never …" Perry stopped and cleared his throat. They hadn't spent any time together since the huge step they took getting married and it showed. They needed one another; in particular, he needed her.

"From the time I was old enough to realize that it was missing in my life, I never thought I would have the kind of love I wanted—wasn't even sure it existed," Perry's voice, that entity responsible at least in part, for the freedom of thousands of clients was deep, wounded.

"And I _was_ quite sure that if it did exist well…let's just say love wasn't going to find someone like _me_. And then _you_ walked into my office, _you_ found me…" Perry trailed off.

"And I'm coming to find you right _now_," Della said, almost unable to get the sentence out she was so touched…and so worried.

Perry tried to laugh although it sounded like something else to her. "No, Della, I'm just tired and in pain. It occurs to me that I may be getting too old for this. Ken and I will meet you at the office just bring a change of clothes for me, please."

"It's already in the car my love."

"Oh and in the back of my closet, behind the briefcases…"

Della interrupted her love, "I found it my love."

Perry laughed at his eager girl.

"I just thought there might be a few presents back there for me," she said in a little voice. "See you soon?"

"I need you."

"I know," Della said softly.

Perry held the phone another minute before hanging it up, as if the ghost of her was clinging to it.

"Sounds like you're going to have a good honeymoon, sorry, pre-honeymoon," said Ken who had come back in to light a fire under his boss.

Perry just looked at him, startled. "Let's get out of here."

Worried about her husband, Della wanted to get to the office with breakfast and coffee before he got there. Grabbing the bag he had asked for and her bag of gifts for him, Della headed to the car with another package tucked under her arm to be hidden away in her suitcase.

Maybe it was wrong of her to take it but it had touched her so when she found it she couldn't help herself. What was he doing with it and when did he take it, that painfully sentimental Perry Mason?

What was one to do with such a man?


	8. Chapter 8

_**Friday, September 10**__**th**__**, 1993, The 405, aka, San Diego Freeway**_

Della looked over at Perry, who was sitting close but ram-rod straight, still in his coat and tie.

"All of those years complaining about bucket seats and that's the best you can do? Come here," Della said with pursed lips, shaking her head.

Perry slid closer. Nimble fingers moving quickly, Della undid his tie, tossing it in the back seat, then undid the first few buttons of his shirt.

"This brings back memories," he smiled as he struggled to take off his jacket, which Della pulled the rest of the way down, putting that in the back, too.

Della tipped her chin up and he tapped her on the nose then kissed her passionately. Still in front of the courthouse, it caused a minor furor.

"We are shocking everyone."

"I don't think so. Perry from the things people have said to me these last two days about us not fooling anyone, it's clear that we have been _blind_."

"What do you say to these people?"

"That my husband and I have always conducted ourselves in a very particular way, regardless, and that we aren't necessarily trying 'to fool' anyone. We have always believed that discretion really is the better part of valor. It may be sadly out of vogue everywhere else but in the office of Perry Mason Attorney-at-Law, discretion is very much in."

"Good answer."

"I've paid attention over the years. Close your eyes, my love?"

"Too excited to sleep, I'm afraid; can't wait to get to the suite."

"Mmmmm…" purred Della. "Well, try and get comfortable. Can you put that knee up?"

Perry snuggled next to Della, his back against her slight but sturdy shoulder, bad knee across their enormous front seat. He loved this car even when he wasn't driving it. Fiddling with the car radio they checked the traffic first then segued to a public radio station playing solely jazz.

Della turned and kissed his head a few times as he stretched his arm out along her leg, his palm resting on her knee. Sighing contently, Perry watched the palm trees pass in a mesmerizing march, as she drove. Within minutes he was fast asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Friday, September 10**__**th**__**, 1993, Laguna Niguel Ritz Carlton, Laguna Beach, CA**_

At any other time Laguna Beach's Ritz Carlton might resemble a world class resort less than an old, haunted, Spanish castle, with its ornate architecture and massive size. But winding up the long drive on this day the sun had chiseled a diamond and it was sitting in a very expensive setting. Perched on a windswept bluff, the Ritz overlooked a majestic stretch of the Pacific Coast with shimmering gold sand and miles of water, which, when back lit by the shimmering sky looked almost as blue, Della once noted, as her lover's eyes.

After Perry moved to San Francisco, Della needed an escape, an oasis to soothe her tortured soul. One night while in nearby Irvine for a Gordon Industries event, she booked a room so she wouldn't have to drive back in the middle of the night and instantly fell in love with the Ritz. When at last Perry came home it became a regular destination for them following grueling cases.

When Della was alone she had seldom taken a suite, even a small one, and when she and Perry stayed they either took a suite with two bedrooms or two connecting rooms. It would have been too bold to ask for such rooms so Perry made it his business to do a little snooping so that they could just request room numbers. This was the very first time in 44 years that they hadn't booked two rooms…anywhere…ever…even in laissez faire Paris.

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To say that they had been looking forward to these few days would have been an understatement. The restaurant was internationally famous, lauded for its "inventive" cuisine. "Spare me _inventive_ cuisine," Perry Mason had thought but to his astonishment it _was_ wonderful. Even better their wine cellar boasted a dramatic and diverse inventory valued at over a million dollars. Perry, a devout oenophile, had access to some of the greatest bottles of wine in the world and this weekend had been granted clearance by his wife to avail himself with abandon.

"Red wine," Perry liked to tell Della, "Is going to turn out to be good for you. The French ingest nothing but nicotine, butter, and cream…they live forever. It has to be the wine."

"Uh huh," Della would say, patting his arm.

There was an elegant spa, which Della enjoyed fully, and pools with private cabanas suitable for passionate, clandestine lovemaking, behavior which, as an unmarried couple, they had worked hard to avoid. They both treasured the beach and while it was a challenge for Perry with his knee, he could never-the-less spend hours walking it, hand-in-hand, with Della.

Frequently the Ritz, who offered a magnificent tea in the lobby each afternoon that Della could talk Perry into because there was a wonderful string quartet and she let him have sherry instead of tea, set up a dance floor on the beach. With a rotating selection of quite good jazz sextets and octets, Della and Perry could dance on the beach through dazzling sunsets and well into the starry nights.

Some mornings just after dawn—after decades of rising early it was a habit neither could break—Della would swim out trying to befriend the dolphins as they played. Sweet and friendly they also happened to be enormous and overly enthusiastic making them potentially dangerous. Perry would stand at water's edge holding his breath when they came to her; and they always did.

Was there a creature Della Street could not charm?

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Surrounded as they were with people day into evening, Della and Perry never did need anyone else socially; often finding company, with very rare exceptions, intrusive. They preferred each other to anyone else in the world and it showed. The staff there had come to know them well and would have walked through fire to make them happy or protect them from prying eyes. Knowing these were not big salaried people, Perry would help out with frequent and often spirited legal advice. Della remembered relationship status, as well as the number of and ages of children; and for the younger set, school and major. Della Street, Perry would often tell people, was an extraordinary woman because when she asked you how you were she actually did want to know.

The women and girls swooned over two people so much in love, so deeply adoring of one another. Heavy, well into his seventies, often grumpy and on a cane, they never-the-less fell in love with the handsome older man with the piercing blue eyes, largely because of the way he seemed to worship her and the way she seemed to cherish him back. Man and boy alike, not one was immune to the inherent charm and gracious beauty of Miss Street.

So when the couple reserved a single room, for the first time ever, and as _Mr. and Mrs. Mason_, the hotel was a buzz. When they walked through the doors people appeared from every direction to very discreetly welcome them, offer congratulations and even toss a few handfuls of rice over them, making them both laugh out loud.

Della was handed an enormous bouquet, which filled her heart with joy and then her eyes with tears. Many of the staff handed them cards, and one of the maids handed "Mr. Perry" a hefty box of homemade Mexican wedding cookies. They were overwhelmed by the genuine excitement these lovely people felt.

When the manager arrived, they disappeared just as quickly as they had appeared, "You're all checked in Mr. and Mrs. Mason. Here are your keys."

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When they walked in the suite Perry stopped short, an enormous grin across his face. Della looked down, smiling, her hands crossed in front of her as he inspected the a king-sized box spring and mattress that had been made up in front of the fireplace. The huge living room, more than ample in size, had been carefully rearranged around it in a very workable blueprint.

While Della unpacked them, they discussed the little surprises they had arranged for one another; for him a private wine tasting of some _very_ expensive bottles and for her virtually every spa treatment they offered, although Perry didn't really understand the spa mentality.

"Someday young lady," Perry said last time they were here, "You will have to educate me re: the value of being dunked in mud, beaten with seaweed and covered with hot stones. It just reminds me of why we in the Pacific theater strenuously avoided becoming a POW in WWII."

After unpacking Perry she sent him into the bathroom to set up his toiletries. As she was starting on her own luggage, a much more involved feat, she suddenly felt Perry's brilliant eyes on her. When she turned she knew well what she would find; a man standing stock still, hands in his pockets, staring at her in a very intense and particular way, willing her to turn to face him, willing her to do whatever he wanted.

Della met that gaze, recalling it well from their youth. When the storm raged inside him, and it was particularly ferocious, Perry would _use_ those eyes. From across a large room their deep, dark, longing could penetrate her, making her skin hot, her face flushed and her heart pound.

When he was this way there was no humor, no smile, just need. Something in him, turbulent, primordial, urgent, angry almost, took over. It didn't matter how old she got, if she stared back at those eyes too long she would be damp and had even seen his arousal bloom right in front of her, just as it was doing now.

Hands still in his pockets Perry swaggered over to her as if he was 40 again. Graceful fingers quickly released the buttons of her lavender blouse, which he helped off her shoulders. Della understood after working for Perry only a short time, just how important hands were to a trial attorney. His were magnificent, those still slender fingers so eloquent in their movements, knowing her body so well—every spot that made her moan, whimper or drove her mad was catalogued in them.

Della wasn't wearing a slip and Perry started breathing harder when her gray push-up bra Della was revealed. Held up by velvet straps, the transparent cups extended only halfway up, barely cupping her as if offering her to him. His hands barely grazed her from beneath.

Della bit her lip, throwing him a sidelong glance.

"La Perla...the boutique we found in Paris last year. I asked them to send over a selection of bras, panties, slips, garters. I ended up keeping them all. Consider it another gift," Della winked at him.

Perry ran the backs of his index fingers underneath the straps of her garters, then ran them along the inside edge of her panties from front to back, eliciting sweet sounds from Della.

"The French do know their lingerie, don't they?" Perry marveled at the quality of the silk and the careful styling meant to maximize the sexiest aspects of a woman's body.

"Young lady, it is unnatural how good you still look."

"Don't look too closely," Della chuckled seductively.

Holding his cheeks between her hands, she pulled him to her kissing him sweetly at first, then insinuating herself deeper and deeper.

"I just can't kiss you enough sometimes," Della shook her head.

"It's a good thing you didn't kiss me like that in court," Perry's voice was nearly gone.

"We're in court again on Wednesday," Della tilted her chin up at him.

"I could give up everything else but kissing you."

"Well, let's hope it never comes to _that._"

Pressing against him now, Della started, "Perry would you be terribly upset…"

Curtailing his gift giving was always so hurtful to him that she hesitated.

"What?"

Della unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off him and in that smoky voice, with the gentle, moderated way she had of speaking to him, finished her thought, "I don't want to be away from you, especially not for a pedicure…"

Perry wrapped his arms around her.

"Good," he sighed over her head. "So we can cancel all of that stuff?"

Relieved, Della ran her hands down his thighs then brought them up to unbuckle his belt, pushing his trousers down. Perry kicked them away.

"Please…"

"Please…or _please_?" Perry asked his deep sonorous voice sending chills up her neck.

Perry circled his hands around her, under her arms, making circles with his thumbs on the material of her bra until her head fell forward into him.

"_Please_," her moan was muffled by his chest.

"That's what I thought," he whispered in her ear

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When they woke up, it was dark.

"I'm seriously considering it," Perry said tickling Della's back as she lay across him.

"The memoir, Knopf's offer?" she said into her arm like a kid, making Perry chuckle softly.

"Yes. What do you think?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Della turned her head toward him. "Speaking just as your secretary, which is a challenge but which I was first, I think your contribution has been remarkable and your methods, your thought pattern-fascinating reading."

"_All_ of it; _we_ would write all of it, both of our names."

"No. Your name, and regardless of what you want to believe it is your story…" Della was adamant.

"I don't care about the courtroom glory—nothing but a lot of bombast. But the detection, the process and methods the era, and the way people conducted themselves in that time _that's_ the story. You, us, Paul, our teamwork. Della, it really is our story. What would I have done without you all of these years, inspiring me in ways no one else can, fighting with me, taking care of all of the details, bringing out the best in me everyday?"

"Too much credit, Perry. You give me too much credit," when he started to speak she put her finger over his lips. "But we are a great team and we've had a heckuva' time..."

"But no vanity projects."

Della chuckled, "Didn't need to be said, Counselor. Although, despite almost 50 years together I still don't know you as well as I think I do sometimes."

Della crawled off Perry and walked into the other room where their suitcases were still opened on racks—having been interrupted from her task by those eyes. Pulling the tissue-wrapped bundle from its corner she held it to her chest as she walked back to the bed, placing it gently on his belly.

"Ah. Yes." Perry said, sliding his hand inside the tissue to feel the satin then lifting it to his face so he could smell the perfume that lingered in it.

"You should have left it there. You should have let me have my…"

"I wanted to wear it for you."

"I needed it. I needed to take it to San Francisco with me. And I couldn't _risk _the possibility of anyone else holding you while you were wearing it."

Della was back on his chest again as he lay back propped up on a bunker of pillows, arms around her, lips buried in her curls.

"I'm…so…sorry, Perry," Della rested her head on him.

"_You're_ sorry?"

"I was so busy… being hurt. I should have just gone to San Francisco and dragged you back home; or moved up there until you came around. Perry, I should have seen there was something very wrong."

Perry was quiet a while trying to decide what to say.

"No. My intention was to hurt you Della, to keep you far from me, far from harm. I think you threw me plenty of lifelines. We both need to finally let those eight years go. Now that we're husband and wife, it's time."

Perry leaned in and placed his lips directly on Della's still-perfect heart-shaped mouth.

"Della Katherine Street Mason, I need food…"

"Dinner is in 20 minutes. I ordered it for 8PM," Della said as she pulled him out of the bed behind her then ran around naked, quickly making the bed back up—of course.

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In all of the years he had known her, Della was always impeccably turned out even if she was just going from his bed to dinner back to his bed. There was something about this mentality that was very much from another time, not just as a matter of personal habit, but as a sign of respect for your lover; like making their bed back up before someone else came into the room.

As she glided around the bedroom concentrating he couldn't help but smile at her earnestness. She had packed him so well everything that he needed just sorted itself out and he was dressed in minutes. Della, on the other hand, had freshened her make-up and hair and was now walking around in a short slip that was so lovely it could have been a very sexy dress itself, while she tended to her jewelry and other details. When she went to put on a garter and stockings he stopped her.

The poor girl, after all.

"No, my darling. I want to feel your soft legs under the table," he said generously.

"But you love the garters…"

"And tonight I just want to feel _you_," he walked over to her and, tiny without any heels on, she disappeared in his arms.

"You finish up, I'll take care of it," Perry said when they heard the knock on the door.

Quickly and quietly the waitress went about setting up their table on the main terrace off the living room then set a fire for them in their fireplace. The sommelier opened thetwo bottles of outrageously fine Grand cru burgundy Perry had chosen for their dinner, which turned out to be well-worth the hefty price tag. Perry also picked a bottle of Cockburn & Co. Grande Champagne Cognac, Vintage 1896 that came without price and which the steward left on a silver tray on the bar with six cognac tulips.

Behind them came a tall, handsome woman who Perry recognized immediately.

"Good evening, Mr. Mason; it's such a pleasure to see you again," she said in a clipped British accent, only slightly dulled by many decades in America where she had become known as one of the world's foremost jazz pianists.

"Miss McPartland, I'm honored," said a confused but gallant Perry.

"Ah, I see Miss Street, forgive me Mrs. Mason has kept me a secret. I believe that I am a gift for you."

"You, Madame, would be the perfect gift for any man," Perry found it very easy to flirt with a particular kind of woman; and almost impossible with anyone else.

Marian McPartland smiled, "Would you like to peruse the list Mrs. Mason and I have selected for you tonight?"

"Maestra, I would never be so presumptuous."

"Then I shall be on the terrace next door until the band starts on the beach below. Enjoy your evening and congratulations…better late than never, yes?"

Perry smiled and gave a slight bow.

Within minutes, the clear but warm, sensuous tones of a true jazz legend were floating through the windows. If he leaned well around the partition he could see her at a concert grand piano that had been brought up from one of the ballrooms.

As the waitress left, Della walked out of the bedroom, smiling at the sound of the piano, wearing an absolutely stunning black cocktail dress with a deep neckline showing off her cleavage and drop shoulders. Once again the hem was shorter than she had worn since the 70s, and Perry noted with great pleasure that with the towering black pumps she was all leg.

When Perry came back from San Francisco in '85, he noticed that it took Della a while to find her footing again from the way she worked, which seemed to have lost its sense of fun, to the way she dressed and comported herself, which seemed almost matronly. Those eight years would never leave them. Not that a mature woman should have dressed and acted like a 20 year-old and not that she was any less beautiful but he did find the difference painful at times. Slowly Della began to come around but it seemed that to some extent she had changed for good; and _he_ had done that.

From the day of their wedding and that pink suit-maybe even before that, they way she ran around the house naked that night-Della had been dressing, even in court, the way she used to dress. Perry once again recognized his girl—the fresh, excited, sexy 27 year-old girl who walked into his office in May 1949.

When was the last time she had worn anything like a pale lavender silk suit and blouse with a plunging neck and short skirt to court? That suit alone was part of the reason he kissed after the prelim, she was radiant and sumptuous like an orchid.

Perry mentioned this over dinner.

"Mmm…Well it wasn't the business, per se, or just clothes my love." Della put down her fork and picked up her wine, leaning back in her chair and crossing those legs, one arm back over the corner of her chair as she considered the question.

"When I worked for you, although I was single in name, we were together and I was still _protected_ by that fact… and the fact that I was damn good at my job," Della shook her head to the side and pursed her lips at Perry.

"For those eight years I was out there alone—for the first time since my 20s. I was just a secretary but…"

"Della…"

"Well, I wasn't running the place, Perry."

"By the time you left Gordon you certainly had held several executive positions, Della," Perry was sitting back in his chair now, one arm across his chest with his hand tucked under his arm, the other hand thoughtfully holding his chin; a position that she knew always indicated he was riveted.

Della tipped her head and grinned at him.

"Gordon was _very_ different from what I had been doing until then and I had to prove myself all over again… in an _entirely_ new industry… at 55! I was terrified; terrified every day for a good 18 months.

I'll tell you, you do not want to be a never-married, middle-aged woman navigating the business world," Della clicked her teeth and gave a quick half nod to the side. "In fact, if you can avoid it, you don't ever want to be a middle-aged woman period."

Della, whose eyes went wide for a moment, had recalled this dispassionately as a series of facts. What she left out, of course, were inconveniences like her first full-on hot flash right in the middle of a meeting with Gordon and other executives. It was the beginning of an _extremely_ difficult time.

Since Perry was away during most of the evidence of menopause, she saw no reason to mention it now. If he thought about it, of course he would reason it had happened—unlimited sex and she was, after all 71—but it was a lot like Santa. By 8 you knew he couldn't possibly be real but you kept pretending he was until you saw proof otherwise.

As Perry quietly listened he finally understood how different her professional experience had been from his, that even their _shared_ experiences had been very different. The judgment, the scrutiny and the lack of security that she had endured for over a 50-year career he, as a man, would never know. As she had said so long ago, it was indeed a man's world.

Della gave a quick, sardonic laugh. "You had been my shield, really, and when that shield was gone …whew…"

Della could see he was about to apologize and put her hand up to stop him.

"It was good for me, Counselor. I wasn't very strong."

Perry snorted at this. Della Street. Not very strong, well, now Perry Mason could say he had heard absolutely everything. Shaking his head, he just looked her.

"Neither of us are, Perry," Della was squinting, a wise, wicked look, not quite a smile, on her face. "Don't you know that, _yet_? We're _only_ strong _together_; of course… together… we are _invincible_."

Della pursed her lips, teasing him with her eyes she picked up her fork and started eating again, leaving Perry sitting there totally flummoxed.

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Della had ordered a traditional steak dinner in advance so he would have no guilt. From the salad of greens with bleu du bocage, a rare blue cheese, to the haricots verts and rare côte de boeuf with a crispy crust from roasting in a hot oven, everything was perfect. Della had even talked the chef into preparing a pan of Lyonnaise potatoes. Contemporary restaurants wouldn't deign to put such an old dish on their menu but they all still served it; now they just called it thinly sliced potatoes with onions sautéed in butter and parsley.

As they enjoyed the last of their wine, cradled in the angel music from next door, Della realized the waitress never brought dessert and went to call down when Perry stopped her.

"I'm sure they'll come. They wouldn't miss the chance to charge us $30 for a scoop of ice cream."

Della laughed and sat back down, scanning the coast, her hand in Perry's.

"All in all a very successful marriage," Della lifted her glass to the sea.

"Isn't it though?" Perry kissed her fingers. "Shall we go down to the ocean and go skinny dipping?"

Della's wine nearly went up her nose.

"Now what would you do," she continued to laugh, "If I said yes to that proposition?"

Perry considered his glass in the moonlight. "Fake a leg cramp on the way to the elevator."

Della started laughing so hard her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh how I love you Perry Mason."

"Thank you for that most amazing gift. How many wives give their husband another woman?"

"You!"

Standing she came over to him and snuggled onto his lap. Perry put down his drink to take as much of her in his arms as he could, one hand stroking her long, smooth leg. After kissing her delicately he Perry indulged in her most favorite of their intimate acts, and spent quite some time whispering in her ear things meant only for her to hear, as she leaned against his cheek, eyes closed.

When there was a knock on the door she didn't want to let him go.

Perry took her by the wrist; "Up young lady…" then leaned over and kissed her, "And stay put."

The room service waiter took away the table then came back with Perry and another table. In the center, ringed with orchids, gardenias and Stephanotis, was a perfect 4-tier wedding cake, the bottom tier no wider than 8-inches in diameter, and about 18-inches in height. All white, each tier was covered in a different lace pattern dusted with pearl powder, a luxurious cascade of beautifully sculpted flowers wrapped half-way around the cake from top to bottom.

Shocked, Della put her hands over her mouth then began to cry. Perry came over and put his arm around her shoulders, walking her closer to the cake. Reaching out, Della closely inspected the topper, bride and groom figurines clearly from the 1950s, both tall, both with dark hair, hers short and curled, his long and wavy, his with blue eyes, hers with hazel.

"Your husband requested that, Mrs. Mason. Our pastry chef had quite a time yesterday looking for vintage wedding cake toppers from the 1950s, especially ones with the exact physical descriptions she was given." The young lady laughed.

Next to the cake were two plates and a sterling silver cake knife engraved with their names and three dates: their wedding date, the date they declared their love in 1952 and the date Della came to work for Perry in 1949. As Della had said repeatedly this week, those previous decades were just as important to her as any wedding date could be; he had not forgotten. The hotel's photographer had been dispatched to take a few photos, at first against the couple's wishes but they relented—in later years they would be very happy that they did.

When he came back to the terrace from seeing the waitress out, Della was a hopeless mess, brushing a finger across the black near-pompadour of the little groom.

"I did not have a pompadour," Perry said in mock disgust.

"Oh, it was pretty close," Della teased.

Perry _harrumphed_ then came over and buried his lips in her curls, "Are you alright?"

"There isn't another man like you in the world. You overwhelm me."

"Della, there is not another soul in the world with whom I imagine I would or could behave like this. Only you could bring this out in me, Della Street; only you."

Della put her arms around him, her head on his chest. "Can we wrap a piece…to save? It's silly but…"

"It's our cake. I suppose that we can do whatever we want with it Miss Street."

"Mrs. Mason."

"Indeed. Tell me, Mrs. Mason, we had Kelly's cake at lunch why does this mean so much to you?"

"Tell _me_, Mr. Mason, we had Kelly's cake at lunch, why did you see fit to present me with another?"

"Because," Perry looked down realizing that he and Della had crossed into some new relationship frontier; with that certificate some wall had come down for her. And it had come down hard and fast. Perry opened the 1985 Dom Pérignon and filled the two flutes.

"Tell me," she said, her genuine tears of love not deterring her. They touched glasses and took a sip.

"While it was, in fact, a generous impulse it was, as we discussed at that time, a perfectly hideous cake, Della. Nice thought, horrible cake. It was like theirs, too modern, oddly shaped, very _brightly_ colored, and had no bride and groom on top."

"So you see; you don't need me to tell you my one and only love. Yours was the cake I dreamed of when I was a girl, which I recall describing to you when we had that same conversation, Mr. Mason and which you obviously stored away in that brain of yours."

Perry, who had not blushed often in his life, was blushing now.

"Did you…imagine your wedding a lot when you were young?"

"Oh, just about every day from fifth grade on. Little boys go through a period where they turn can anything into a gun—Junior was like that; give that boy a daisy and he turned it into a six-shooter." Della laughed and took a long of the dazzling champagne.

"Well little girls spend years draping every bathmat, dishtowel and pillow case on their heads like a veil. Maybe not anymore but it was true then." Della giggled, thoroughly enchanted by the champagne and her husband.

Perry had learned more about his wife tonight than he had in decades, thanks to her uncharacteristic openness, and it was exciting.

"Your dream wedding didn't look anything like this, did it Della?"

Della who was admiring her cake again reached down to where Perry was sitting and brushed a stray lock of now-silver hair off her bridegroom's forehead.

"No. No it didn't," Della said as Perry stood, taking her glass from her. "But it _felt_ just like this, Perry," Della made sure to look deep into his eyes, hoping that he could feel what was in her heart.

"The _only_ way it _can_ feel when you marry the man of your dreams.

_Perfect_."

They stood there holding one another, the years falling away only the promise of the future keeping them company. When "Everything I Have is Yours," started coming across the terrace, they smiled. It was one of those songs they considered "their song." Perry took Della in his arms as they began to dance.

_Everything I have is yours  
__You are part of me  
Everything I have is yours  
My destiny_

I would gladly give the sun to you  
If the sun were only mine  
I would gladly give the earth to you  
And the stars that shine  
Everything that I possess, I offer you

Let my dream of happiness come through  
I'll be happy just to spent my life  
Waiting at your back end call  
Everything I have is yours  
My life, my all

They danced for almost an hour and a half, sitting occasionally to rest Perry's knee and sip from the same glass of cognac.

At one point while he was holding Della to him Perry started to chuckle.

"Too much cognac, Chief? Because I think I've been more than holding up my end; in fact, I'm a bit dizzy," they both laughed.

"No. I was just holding you, my wife now," she smiled up at him, "Listening to Ms. McPartland, and the ocean, remembering what we did a few hours ago and planning what we're going to do any minute," Della chuckled heartily, "Drinking 100 year-old cognac and wondering if things could be too perfect."

"And?"

"Interestingly? No." Della laughed again and when they heard Miss McPartland start another song, Della recognized it as her special request for her final piece. Taking Perry in her arms, she started to sing very softly...

_Long ago and far away,_

_I dreamed a dream one day_

_And now that dream is here beside me_

_Long the skies were overcast but now the clouds have passed_

_You're here at last_

_Chills run up and down my spine, _

_Aladdin's lamp is mine_

_The dream I dreamed was not denied me_

_Just one look and then I knew_

_That all I longed for long ago was you_

Perry danced Della inside to the fireplace, resting his head on her curls

_Chills run up and down my spine, Aladdin's lamp is mine_

_The dream I dreamed was not denied me_

_Just one look and then I knew  
_  
_That all I longed for long ago was you_

Perry unzipped Della's dress, while his lips played along the edges of hers. Carefully removing it, he laid it gently over a chair, then removed her slip and tossed it on top of the dress. When he returned his lips to hers, he tilted her head back to have better access, stroking her long neck with the backs of his fingers. Della held his face to her as they kissed, trying to keep him close. They were fighting each other a bit, both trying to hold and touch as much of the other as they could.

Letting one hand play on her soft belly he used the other on the lace cups of on her bra until she was shifting on her heels. Unhooking it he slowly pulled it away from her shoulders, dropping his mouth to her cleavage. Della held the back of Perry's neck, the warmth of his lips and skill of his tongue driving her insane. Holding her close Perry slipped his hands down her back and into her panties, sliding them down her legs then lifting her up off the floor and out of them making her moan his name.

On either side of the fireplace, long panels of mirror hung as decoration. "Come here," Perry pulled Della in front of the mirror and stood behind her. "I want you to see the most beautiful woman in the world." Della just shook her head, blushing and looked down but Perry brought her chin up with a single finger. Raising her eyes she looked at his face in the mirror. Those blue eyes glittered in the firelight the same light that he traced with his finger as it flickered across her body.

Della moaned his name softly. Reaching up, she put her hands behind him to hold the back of his neck, forcing her body to arch, one, long leg stretched in front of the other.

Perry's palms were open now pressing hard against her body. Della dropped an arm and reached behind her, releasing Perry who was still fully dressed then resting it against the wall in front of her.

Turning her head to find Perry's lips, They were staring into each other's eyes now, the heat from the fireplace causing a sheen on Della's body and Perry's forehead. Grasping her waist he pulled her back into him forcing a cry from deep inside her. In the distance they could hear the waves crashing on the sand, next to them the fire snapping. The only other sounds were Della's rhythmic groans.

Perry's eyes hadn't left her once.

"You tell me when." But it was no use. Della Street Mason could not speak and shook her head.

"Per-ry.. Don't know if…" the cognac had made her voice even deeper, sexier, making Perry wild.

"I've got you. No matter what. I've got you."

Perry had her wrapped in him now; a hand flat against the lowest part of her belly; the other arm across her chest his hand filled with her softness; his mouth at the base of her neck sinking his teeth carefully into the silky curve. Della's groans became cries as her legs went weak. Perry held her up, though, until she finally collapsed against him.

Laying her on the bed in front of the fire, Perry went into the bedroom to change into his robe, bringing hers out with him. Helping her up and into her robe, he half carried her out to the hot tub. Once in, Perry held her on his lap, holding a cognac to her lips. Still breathing hard, Della looked at him sideways, a half-smile of her face as if to say, _Thanks, I needed that._

The terrace was fairly private, although not completely. Had anyone tried they would have seen the newlywed couple locked in an embrace, steam coming off the water into the cool night air that danced in off the Pacific. Perry left the hot tub for a bit more cognac and Della took great delight in watching him parade around naked, completely comfortable and happy; not even limping. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to find a solution for his knee. No longer would she stand to see that man in pain; Della was feeling the anger she only felt when he was in jeopardy in some way.

Della wanted more of him, though, an decided to meet Perry as he hit the second-to-last step. Pressing her hands against his belly she encouraged him to sit on the edge of the tub. Standing in front of him, she reached around for his robe and wrapped him in it then took the glass from him and let the exquisite, nearly 100 year-old liquid fill her mouth. Handing him back the glass seductively she settled in in front of him on the lower step. Taking his mouth in hers, the cognac still burning on her lips, Della explored him as if it was the first time starting gently then increasing the pressure as he grew agitated.

Della put her hands on his thighs to hold herself up as her lips worked their way down his chest. Moving her hands to his hips, holding him, she went down a step. When she started kissing his belly Perry couldn't hold himself up anymore and leaned back. Teasing him, so close but so far away, she went back to his lips, and he moaned kissing her back ardently, growing less passive by the second. Della tried keeping him at bay, one of her hands disappearing between them, delicately playing along his skin, touching him everywhere, as he panted against her.

"Della…"

"You _belong_ to me now, Counselor; _all_ of you." Leaning in she moved her body against his as he held onto her shoulders.

"Have I ever told you, Counselor, how very, very beautiful you are," both of Della's hands were fluttering now, exploring him in such detail that he wanted to turn himself inside out, "And how _very_ much I enjoy you?"

"Della…oh God…"

When Della replaced her fingers with her lips and Perry felt that soft, warm, perfect mouth a strangled cry escaped him. Della was in Heaven but it wasn't long before Perry was warning her she _had_ to stop and she ever so slowly pulled away. Putting her arms around his neck and sitting on his good knee, he held her pulling his robe around her back.

After a few minutes he started caressing her but she shook her and got up. Della slipped into the water again after taking another long sip of cognac in her mouth and the sensation made him scream. Moving slowly over him Perry couldn't breathe from the pleasure and although he was moaning uncontrollably now he was determined it wasn't going to end this way.

Throwing the robe off his shoulders he gently lifted her up and slipped into the water with her.

"Perry…" she moaned.

"No."

Picking her up with one arm around her waist, and the other underneath her, he pulled her against him. Della wrapped her legs around his waist, throwing her head back as he buried his head in the softness in front of him her fingers in his hair. Pushing away from him, he pulled her back rhythmically over and over until he backed her up against the edge of the hot tub pinning her upper arms back, those eyes staring into hers.

Watching him as he watched her was too much for Della and soon her cries went out into the night air. When she reached out for Perry wrapping her arms around him, he fell into her finally letting himself enjoy her completely. With his mouth buried in her hair his sounds were short, deep and urgent.

Finally they stopped moving and Perry pulled them into one of the seats to rest. Della, with tears streaming down her cheeks, let her lips fall on his forehead, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, the tiny soft space in front of his ear…everywhere. Whispering "I love you" to him over and over, Perry rested his head on her shoulder until he felt his legs would carry him.

Freezing when they got out, they threw on their robes and went to the fireplace to dry each other off before dropping into bed and into a deep sleep, drugged like Sleeping Beauties, until almost noon.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Saturday, September 11**__**th**__**, 1993**_

Saturday they spent the day going from the beach to a cabana by the pool where they ordered lunch and shocked the poor young man who tried to deliver it—much quicker than they had expected. Perry threw a towel over Della, whom he had talked out of her clothes, signed the bill adding a semester's tuition for a tip then sent the young man on his way.

"Knock next time, son."

The young man looked up and down at the canvas cabana, confused.

Perry tied the flaps back together and said to Della who was looking up at him through her lashes slightly miffed, "He's seen much more on prime-time television."

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That night Perry deigned to eat in the grand dining room, mostly because along with thousands of dollars of French lingerie his wife had purchased some gorgeous clothes and he wanted to both see her, and show her off, in them.

His wife.

He liked thinking it and he liked saying it even more. Even more than that he adored the way Della constantly went out of her way to refer to "my husband." To use an old phrase of his mother's, it tickled him. Perry Mason was not often "tickled."

Tonight Della was as ethereal as the waves they had watched at sunset as she floated into the dining room wearing a sea-foam green chiffon evening coat and matching dress with spaghetti straps. Both were a swing cut, lined in silk and hovered just above her knee offering a sexy length of leg, which just seemed longer for the high heels. Her curls pulled up and back, she wore a pair of drop pearl and diamond earrings with her three-strand pearl and diamond necklace.

Della had sent Perry down ahead of her so she could finished getting dressed in peace and dazzle him when she walked into the bar to meet him. He had been sitting facing the door, just waiting for her, not talking to his too-chatty drunken neighbors, when she walked in and nearly knocked him off his stool. Of course Perry knew he was biased but when she walked across the room to him, it grew hushed and a man's voice said, "Wow!"

Della walked directly over to Perry, smiling only for him, reached her arm up around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss. Anyone with that look on his face for his wife, she thought, deserved a little attention. Perry threw a $20 bill on the bar and held her tightly under the arm.

The maître d', Georges, seated and congratulated them, and soon the bottle of 1990 Louis Roederer Cristal that Perry had ordered earlier arrived at their table. Toasting one another they spent most of the dinner holding hands; thoroughly relaxed and blissfully happy they communicated largely without words, just like they did most days in the office.

After a wonderful dinner of Sole meunière for her and rack of lamb for him, they hurried back upstairs to the fireplace, their cognac and their bed.


	11. Chapter 11

_**September 12**__**th**__**, 1993, Laguna Beach Ritz Carlton**_

Loathe as he was to do it, Perry took an extra painkiller as he was putting on his tuxedo. Della was losing her mind trying to figure out what was in-store but that was definitely a clue; as was the fact he had instructed her to bring, and pack for him, formal attire.

Perry had been stunned when he opened his garment bag to find the tuxedo Della had made for him at the same time she had the wedding suit made. It was, he claimed, the single finest suit of clothing he had ever seen.

"It will be," Della said glancing slyly at her husband. "When you put it on."

"Flattery, Mrs. Mason, will get you everywhere."

Della was in one of her new slips and when he went to kiss her to thank her for the tux, things almost got out of control. But Perry managed to stop her with promises of things to come.

"Young lady, there is something very special awaiting you downstairs."

"There had better be," said a very "bothered" Della.

After doing her hair and make-up, Della opened her garment bag to reveal a Ralph Lauren couture, floor length, form-fitting, red-beaded gown with thin straps that went diagonally over the shoulders. The slit traveled so high she almost couldn't wear a garter belt.

In keeping with her routine, Della was attending to all final touches before putting on the dress. But since there would be no slip with her gown, it meant she was walking around in her lingerie and heels. Made from the most exquisite silk, the red strapless bra and sheer panties with strategically placed lace panels were smooth against, even accentuating, every curve. Perry, not usually a foot man, couldn't take his eyes off the way her slender foot with its sweeping arch, fit into the red satin heels and knew that they were going to be fashionably late to his surprise for her.

Stepping into the dress she turned her back for Perry to zip her up but he was glued to the floor. Carrying the bottom of the dress she went over to him, her deep laugh rolling over him. He stood there a while, trying to zip her up; he really tried.

"Counselor…" Della's tone was warning.

Instead of zipping her up, however, he bent down and started kissing her back.

"Chief…no…" her resolve, which had been lousy to being with, was disappearing.

Lifting his lips he let them glide with the edges of his beard, slowly over her shoulder blades.

"Perry…" now it was nothing more than a moan.

His fingers traveled inside her dress and around to her front, exploring the strapless bra she had on.

"Stinker," Perry laughed at her very evident frustration then pushed the dress away from her from the inside.

Feeling him against her she laughed, "This is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Counselor."

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When they finally got downstairs, heads swiveled as they crossed the lobby, his arm under her elbow as it had been for 44 years. He took her breath away every time she looked at him in that tuxedo. Della, the most modest of women, knew that it would be _false_ modesty not to admit that they looked sensational; and, as ever, better for being together.

Perry had booked the smaller and more elegant of the hotel's ballrooms that was located at the back of the hotel, overlooking the ocean. Della could see the young man at the door signal someone inside as they approached and within moments she heard a big band playing "I'm Getting Sentimental Over You." Stopping in her tracks she stared at Perry who smiled and kept her moving.

The young man opened the doors for them and Della gasped, everything had been cleared from the gorgeous room but a single table set for two and the 16-piece incarnation of the legendary Tommy Dorsey band. In the distance Della could see that they had their own private waiter stationed next to the table.

The young man at the door and a young waitress Della knew as Trudy, were peeking in behind them.

As Perry and Della walked away she heard Trudy say to the young man, "Now that's how it's done. He sure is something."

"Yeah," agreed a young man. "He is _so_ getting laid tonight."

Perry Mason was about to explode when Della Street Mason, having overheard this exchange, turned and, looking down her shoulder at them, said, "He _so_ is… _again_."

Perry guffawed and took his bride immediately to the dance floor, stopping by their table only long enough for Della to drop her red beaded clutch on her chair. The band segued into a favorite of Della's, "Dream Dancing" and a young woman got up from her chair by the band and came to the microphone:

_When day is gone and night comes on  
Until the dawn what do I do?  
I clasp your hand and wander through slumber land  
Dream dancing with you_

We dance between a sky serene  
And fields of green sparkling with dew  
It's joy sublime whenever I spend my time  
Dream dancing with you

Dream dancing  
Oh, what a lucky windfall  
Touching you, clutching you  
All the night through

So say you love me, dear  
And let me make my career  
Dream dancing, dream dancing with you

"She's not as good as you were," Perry said scowling.

"Ha!" Della laughed at him. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, Chief. Anyone who ever thought I could sing has got it bad."

Della and Perry danced the entire night, stopping so briefly for their dinner that the rest had to be sent up to their room for later. Exhausted by wide awake, they lay in bed in front of the fireplace, cuddling.

"All we've done this weekend is eat, dance and make love," said Della smiling.

"Complaining?"

"Bragging! It's the perfect honeymoon," Della sighed, sounding a bit wistful.

Perry laughed and kissed her on the nose. "Want to retire? Do this all of the time?"

Perry reached for the covers then pulled her down into the pillows.

"Give up work? Not a chance, Boss; not a chance."

"That's my girl."

"Don't you forget it."


	12. Chapter 12

_**YOU'RE NOT MISSING ANYTHING...I screwed up Chapters so it goes from 11 to 14. I don't have triskaidekaphobia. I'm just not superstitious except, as Perry says, where Della is concerned!**_

_**Wednesday, September 16**__**th**__**, 1993**_

As Perry and Della packed up after the preliminary hearing, Kayla McCahill's wealthy parents came over to shake the eminent attorney's hand. Neither Perry nor Della had much use for them. It was easy to see how Kayla had gotten herself mixed up with characters like her husband and his brother who ultimately turned out to be the murderer.

So badly executed, the murder and its methods took Perry and Paul, ably assisted by Jake Brice, all of 24 hours to expose. In the end it was as simple as a drug partnership gone wrong. Where Kayla fit in was almost prosaic —she had money, it was that simple.

Perry had taken a shine to the very bright young woman who, during the few days he had spent working on a defense for her, had participated eagerly and shown aptitude for the law. Additionally she was deferential, humble and listened intently—an underrated attribute in Perry Mason's opinion. Della had, of course, brought her out about her major and grades, her dreams and desires, any number of things, as only Della Street could.

Timid, plain, overweight and under her parents' warped, iron thumb when the attractive-in-a-sleazy-kind-of-way fellow turned his attention toward Kayla she leapt.

"There never was any baby," explained Della to Jake. "When the Cahills objected to the marriage, Kayla simply faked a pregnancy."

Perry, trying to mitigate their anger after the hearing, pointed out that they should be relieved but they were just too angry. They had been surprised to learn Kayla was the daughter of Tim and Doris McCahill; a nasty, snobbish pair they had seen for decades at philanthropic events. Doris Cahill's disdain for Della Street was as overt as her attraction to Perry Mason, whom she routinely propositioned every time her husband's back was turned.

"If we never see them again it will be too soon," declared Perry opening his eyes wide for a moment and offering a smile that wasn't; as had become his habit in later years.

"Oh, we'll see them next month, the Los Angeles County Breast Cancer Project symphony night."

Perry's scowl didn't last as he watched his stunning wife deftly pack them up. Everyone had noticed the change in her. Kelly Burger-Drake and Jr. both said it was the 1965 version of Della Street. Today she was in an arresting black suit; short jacket, no lapels, pencil skirt that hit her knee and a white shirt with exaggerated collar and large bow on her hip just below the jacket. Her silk stockings had a slight shimmer and she wore black and white spectators.

It's a good thing that this preliminary hearing was absurdly simple because his mind was on her.

"Sort of anti-climactic," Della sighed.

"Not entirely," Perry said scanning her from head-to-toe.

Della rolled her eyes and pursed her lips at him. "As always, you flatter me."

"As always, it's you who flatters me by doing me the honor of being on my arm," he said brushing her hand with his. "May I take my beautiful colleague to lunch? You look so magnificent, going straight back to the office would be a crime."

"Why, Counselor," Della chuckled, "That sounds lovely."

They had been going crazy for one another since the wedding as insatiable as they were when they were in their 30s. They would fall asleep after having made love, their bodies never separating during the night, arms and legs wrapped around one another, head buried in the other's shoulder. Waking up the next morning they would pick up exactly where they left off…literally.

Right now all that Mrs. Mason wanted to do was take Mr. Mason home to their enchanted cottage and play hooky. They went through periods like this, sometimes it was Della, sometimes Perry. The night they found Leander, who would be 31 now Della realized, she wanted to skip the brief they needed to finish and go home with him after they finished dinner. But it was Perry who reminded her that they only had a couple of hours-worth of work, "And then…"

The key to "surviving" these moments was that it was the other person's responsibility to bring them back around. In fact, it was part of the seduction, part of the delicate, well-choreographed waltz they did with one another. There was some delicious torture involved in the denial; and for such a good cause, work.

Della leaned in to Perry from the side, making him smile as he looked down at the papers in his hand, her hazel eyes warm and expectant. Perry started to chuckle. Abandoning his work he trained those eyes on her, taking her chin in his hand.

"Well, well, well…," a woman's voice interrupted them. "So it's true."

Tall, blonde and attractive, if overdone, Doris Cahill stood arms crossed, the picture of excess in a canary yellow Chanel suit with mink wrap.

"What else can we do for you?" Perry said unable to hide his condescension.

"I'd like to take you to lunch to thank you and to discuss another business matter. I need an attorney."

"Mrs. Cahill I'm not surprised; fortunately L.A. is filled with hungry attorneys."

"Decades of gossip about you bedding a secretary … I always defended you!" she said a thin, corrupt smile on her face.

"I don't appreciate that language in front of this young _lady_," Perry indicated Della.

Doris Cahill looked stunned, "Well, good for you for _finally_ catching him, dear."

Della simply continued packing their briefcases.

"Not that it's anyone's business" said Perry, "But I caught _her_. Miss Street and I have been together for 44 years. Thankfully she finally agreed to be my wife last week, after _decades_ of my begging."

"Perry," Della rolled her eyes.

"And now, if you'll excuse us, we are hungry and then we have a great deal of work back at the office."

Then Perry did something he had never done before, he turned his back on a lady, well, a woman anyway. As the angry clacking of her heels receded, so did Perry's anger, which was a relief since he didn't want to kiss Della Street with so much as a trace of anger.

Both Perry and Della had noticed people milling around the courtroom after the hearing; many more than usual. Some seemed to be trying to find things to keep them in the room and some were just openly…waiting. Perry started to chuckle so only she could hear and in return Della gave him a sexy, sidelong glance

"We shouldn't disappoint them, young lady."

"Well, it is a new tradition," Della offered agreeably. "Terrible to break it already…"

Perry turned to Della, "Where was I?"

Della pointed a graceful finger at her pursed lips, "You were about to plant one on me."

Cupping her chin in his hand, Perry brought Della's sweet face in close gently brushing her lips with his, increasing his fervor until her lips were parted just enough taste her, trying to improve on last time without being too intimate. Then he tapped her on the nose.

"Shall we?" Perry stood aside to let her out then took her elbow.

"Perry…" Della's tone was one he knew well.

"We have a great deal of work to do back at the office, young lady."

Della sighed, putting her arm around his waist, "I know, Boss."

Perry insisted on driving and as they got on the 405, Della suddenly realized that she was being kidnapped.

Della just shook head and laughed. "It's been the happiest week of my life, Mr. Mason. I love you, you know?"

"Happy One Week Anniversary, Mrs. Mason."

"I hate to complain but did you…pack for me?" Della winced slightly.

"I'm afraid so, dear," Perry smiled triumphantly.

"Well I'll have 6 bras and no panties but….

"Panties! I knew I forgot something!"

Della slapped him on the shoulder. "You!"

"Should I make some untoward remark about you probably not needing them anyway or just let it go?"

Snuggling up next to Perry, Della leaned into his shoulder his arm around her. "Drive."

"Right."

Dinah Washington came on the radio…

_What a difference a day made, twenty four little hours  
Brought the sun and the flowers where there use to be rain  
My yesterday was blue dear  
Today I'm a part of you dear  
My lonely nights are through dear  
Since you said you were mine  
Oh, what a difference a day made  
There's a rainbow before me  
Skies above can't be stormy since that moment of bliss  
That thrilling kiss  
It's heaven when you find romance on your menu  
What a difference a day made  
And the difference is you, is you_

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_**Monday, September 8**__**th**__**, 2003, Los Angeles**_

The judge asked the Prosecutor if she agreed with Mr. Mason's request that all charges against his client be dropped. When Mrs. Burger-Drake agreed, smiling and shaking her head, the judge slammed down his gavel on Mr. Mason's 567th case in 57 years and his 550th case with his stalwart secretary, Della Street, at his side.

Della was keeping score; even had it on something called an Excel spreadsheet in her computer. When Perry asked what that meant a few years back, she patted his cheek as you would a small child and said, "You don't want to know, dear."

"No," he had said, "I probably don't."

Della and Perry had become a grand pair adored, or at least admired, by everyone in their arena. Always the object of attention for their looks and skill, they now had such a long history there was a certain reverence for them. When they walked through the hallways people stopped and stared.

At the ages of 81 and 86 respectively, they were a handsome duo. They walked as they always had, Perry on the outside, holding Della's arm briefcases in their outer hands. Perry still wore his Saville-Row-made three piece suits, custom shirts and an array of silk ties.

With the exception of a few years in the 80s, Della Street-Mason had always been a fashion-plate. Since their wedding, however—10 years ago to the very day—she had stepped it up. Her clothes were of impeccable design and always looked incredible on her long, lithe figure.

After surviving very serious health scares in their seventies, they were in good shape, better, in fact, than they had been in years. Della never lost her slender, thin-boned, girlish figure with the exception of a small tummy, which she was not allowed to lose because Perry loved it. Good thing, as she often told him, because she had been trying to lose it since she turned 60 and it turned out to be the most stubborn thing about her—and that was saying a lot.

Perry looked miraculous. No longer on a cane because of steroid shots first, then successful knee surgery later, he could exercise and had lost so much weight that he felt it was time to get rid of his now-white beard.

Perry thought that Della, who loved that beard, would be upset but she said in her usual, relaxed way, "Hell it will be back in a week if we miss it!"

But in fact, he was Perry again without it; his dimples, his smile, himself. Della ran her hands over his face every chance she got.

They went into the office three days a week but only took a few cases a year now, and Kelly teased him and said it was because he didn't want to ruin his perfect record and she was closing in on him.

Perry had put his arm around her and said, "Sweetheart, I ever have a guilty client I will be happy to see you put them in jail."

"He just can't stand the idea of an innocent person getting jailed for a murder they didn't commit," said Della. "That's what's driven him all of these years."

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"Dear…we have too many anniversaries. You're a bit…anniversary-mad," Della said to her husband as he was relaxing in the hot tub.

Della never thought that Perry Mason would take to anything like a hot tub but it was now nearly impossible to make him leave it. For the eleven years they had the house in Malibu, the then state-of-the-art hot tub sat empty and remote. But at the end of 1993 Perry started to, well, work out really and she thought that she would have the hot tub cleaned and filled to see if it eased his aches and pains. Perry just looked disdainfully at what he called, "the overgrown bath tub" and stuck to their actual tub, a large, deep, sunken affair that was decidedly _indoors_.

Then one day in 2001, he thought he might give it another try. After it was cleaned and refilled he got in and, essentially, never got out again; well long enough to have an entirely new one—one that re-defined state-of the-art—installed.

"When you add on the holidays and birthdays, including the babies, well…" Even with the internet, as chief procurement officer in charge of buying all family gifts for five grandchildren, Paul, Kelly and now Ken Malansky and his family, Della was a bit overwhelmed.

"Della, we have already cut it back to three—nearly impossible to do. They're like my children. Which do I ignore—should we no longer celebrate our wedding, today, ten years, as promised."

"I said _at least_ ten years. Our promise has not been fulfilled. You're only 86 and I am only….39, we both feel fine and have at least another decade in us."

"So that's a no on canceling our wedding anniversary?"

"I volunteer that we can stop celebrating my birthday with anything more than a card. Well," Della paused turning to look at him over her paper, "That and my ritual ravishment, of course."

Ahhh...thought Perry happily. The dance has begun!

Perry loved when Della was the one to begin the lovemaking. Since they were semi-retired Perry had to acknowledge how much younger she looked almost overnight. Wise man that he was Perry knew what she needed sometimes when she didn't even know—it wasn't work that tired her out but her worry about him working.

Perry's grin was mischievous and wide; how she loved seeing his dimples so clearly again and that little hitch on the left side of his smile. He looked better than he had since before San Francisco.

"As I still owe your parents a debt of gratitude I can never repay, this would be a travesty. And what about the first night we declared our love?"

Della thought for a minute then in the voice of a young girl admitted, "No that was an _awfully_ special night. You carrying me down the ladder…"

"The law library ladder…" Perry interjected.

"Never-the-less," Della countered.

"God I was so painfully in love with you," Della said with longing in her voice as she collapsed the paper and set it on her lap for a moment to reflect.

"I actually resented the few hours I spent in my apartment each night because I was away from you. What could it have been—seven hours tops? Dinah Washington sang, "Until Sunrise" so often on my stereo that I wore out two copies." Della laughed at the memory. "I swear every time I'd get a paper cut I'd bleed love for you."

"You were in love?" Perry said exasperated as if it happened yesterday. "What I went through with my scared little kitten!"

"It's true," Della nodded. "But you ran so hot and cold, Perry. One minute you were following me around, taking me out, buying me gifts, the next you were snapping at me, leaving me back at the office on cases or, worse ignoring me. And you were like that after we got together, too, by the way."

"I did have an ethical dilemma worrying about the client always getting our best, keeping work and personal delineated. But more-to-the point, for almost three years you had me half-crazed, Miss Street. I used to complain to Paul…"

"You discussed this with Paul?" Della couldn't control her laughter.

"And don't think he didn't make me pay for it."

"Oh I have no doubt, dear; no doubt at all. He must have ribbed you mercilessly."

"I'm glad you're enjoying this," Perry said smirking.

"And then one night just before Christmas you brought me into your office, sat me on your lap and told me that you loved me. Almost makes me forget what a dirty trick you played on me earlier that evening!"

"Worked, didn't it?" Perry smiled triumphantly.

"Stinker!"

"I consider that her finest hour. I needed her help. You weren't budging. Poor girl…" Perry looked sympathetically at her.

"I wasn't wrong, Perry. I felt it all of the time, I just learned to deal with it because you were worth it; you were more than worth it. But I knew people thought I was a wonton woman for many years."

"Della Street Mason, anyone who knew you, anyone who knows you, thinks only one thing; that you are an angel here on Earth who has graced us with your presence for a time."

Della rolled her eyes and laughed at him. "Not Laura."

"No… not Laura."

"Well she always knew how to get to me; get to us," Della said bemused.

"Not me my darling," said Perry mindlessly.

Della rolled her eyes.

"Not you, huh? Must just be me," Every now and then, Della Street Mason ever the spitfire, decided to just toss one out there.

"How is she anyway?"

"Oh, she's fine she said…" Perry stopped short. When he glanced furtively over at Della she continued to silently read the business section of the newspaper, eyebrows raised, chin up and lips pursed.

Della had decided not to help him out of it.

"I'm sorry, Dear, what did Laura say when you spoke?"

Perry cleared his throat. "She said that she and her teenaged husband might stop by next week on their way to San Diego."

"My but that's certainly something to look forward to, isn't it?" Della's voice dripped with sarcasm.

At 81 years-old she still had to deal with a rival, she still had to deal with Laura Robertson DeShields Garroway?

"Interesting sense of direction and geography, by the way—after all she is coming from Tucson, not exactly on the way to San Diego."

Perry felt badly about enjoying her pain. Honestly she was right. Laura was still always "in there pitching," as Della would say. But, and he was ashamed to admit this, he loved that Della was still so jealous when it came to him. Her age didn't matter; when she was like this she was about five years old and he found her irresistible.

Sizing her up as she sat there reading her newspaper on the edge of the hot tub with her back to him, it would be simple. At first she would be angry but soon she would start to giggle because that's who she was. She hadn't taken to the hot tub quite the way he had and he decided it was time they change that. Standing up behind her, Perry wrapped one strong arm around Della's waist and slid the other under her legs and, before she knew it, he had pulled her in, backwards and fully clothed.

"Perry! No!"

But it was too late. She was immersed up to her underarms, on his lap on the side bench.

"Let me go!" She said trying to hold her newspaper aloft.

"No you stay where you are, young lady."

"Perry!

"Della!"

"Let me up!"

"You just told me how romantic it was the way I carried you down the stairs that night but you weren't too happy about it at the time either. You'll feel the same way about this in ten years!

So returning to our anniversary conundrum….that means we'd have to do the unthinkable and ignore the first night we made love."

"I hope you have nice memories of the _last_ night we made love because…it is going to _be_ the last time we make love for a long, _long_ time." Della, scowling at Perry, emphasized that second 'long' her voice coming from her toes.

"Well it was a couple of days ago, my short-term memory still works so, yes, I recall it and with great fondness." In his dotage, since their marriage especially, Perry had become much more relaxed and prone to teasing Della Street in a very demonstrative way.

"I recall that it started out something like this…"

Perry started kissing her gently by her ear and immediately her shoulder shot up, making him laugh. When he looked back up he gave her _that_ smile, the smile that got him out of so, so much these last 54 years…that same wide grin that made him look like a little boy, especially now that he had lost so much weight and shaved off his beard that spring.

"Just because I had an involuntary physical response…" Della said pouting.

"But Miss Street, your involuntary responses are my favorite."

Perry unbuttoned her cardigan and rolled it back from her shoulders while he concentrated on her neck. As the sweater floated away Perry brought his lips to hers and began kissing her with increasing urgency. Reaching down he unbuttoned, then slowly unzipped her white linen trousers, which were a recent purchase, quite expensive and which he was probably going to have to replace. He made a mental note to call Neiman's tomorrow.

"You…" _Now_ she was giggling.

"Now you know, holding back sex has never been a threat of yours that I take seriously," Perry laughed as he slid his hands inside her trousers, then her panties, forcing her clothes down.

"I know," Della moaned into his ear. "All you have to do is _look_ at me with those rakish eyes and I have proved myself a paper tiger."

"I can't believe it took me this long to get you into a hot tub to make love to me."

"I would never have believed that you would have wanted to make love in a hot tub!"

Della pulled back to look at him. "I remember when I could see all of your features clearly defined with your face so close our noses were touching. Pretty soon I'm going to have to stand across the room to see you!"

Perry, who had started stroking her, first the outside of her hips, then the inside of her thighs, laughed at this. Della lifted one of those still beautiful legs and hooked it around his hip. Pleasantly surprised Perry let one of his hands return to her backside, supporting her.

"But this isn't the first time we've made love in a hot tub…"

"Are we going to make love?" asked Perry innocently.

Della reached down playfully checking to see if she recognized anything. Staying there for a while on a mission of exploration, she delighted in the look that started to cross his face, the way his arms tightened around her, the way his head dropped into her neck and fit so nicely.

"There's my old friend…" Della moaned, loving the feel of him.

"Easy on the 'old.' Come over here…"

She pulled her other leg up and let him carry her over to the corner of the hot tub.

"Whither thou goest…"

"Hey, easy with the 'whither,' too!'

Della couldn't stop laughing. "Whatever are you so insecure about? How many men can say that they have a perfect record of 54 years? _A perfect record_, both in court and in me, Perry Mason."

Perry laughed out loud as Della ran her hands on his shoulders while he held her looking in her eyes. When Perry started to unbutton her shirt Della jumped.

"Perry, no…" Della held the neck of her shirt, holding it closed; the look of discomfort on her face upset him deeply.

"Della…stop," Perry was holding her close, rocking her back and forth. "You're breaking my heart."

Della had always been bashful but was now painfully self-conscious about the war wounds she acquired over the years. The truth is, they were lucky to be alive as Perry pointed out more than once. They had worked hard, much harder than most traveling all over the world to do it. They had smoked for 50 years and slept little; drank late cocktails and ate later dinners, when they ate; loved harder than any two people should; and "sinned from one end of their office to the other," as Della would say.

And they both bore the scars of a grueling life, of which they would have changed only a few moments…and eight years. Perry's belly was slashed from his gall bladder, several serious intestinal surgeries and the stent in his chest. Della still bore scars from the three gunshot wounds in her chest that saved Perry but nearly took her. Then, thanks to the cigarettes she couldn't quit until it was almost too late, scars across her chest from the cancer that stunned them in '97, very nearly killing her.

"Della, we're here and you are, as ever, perfect. _And_ you have endured me for 54 years," he said his gravelly voice sounding astonished. "That alone deserves a medal."

"You _will_ say anything when you're like this," Della said shaking her head.

Slowly he managed to get the shirt free form her grip; her extreme vanity, responsible after all for keeping her as lovely as she had been all of these years, making it quite a struggle. But he got it free and then went after her bra, which he sent on its way in the bubbling water.

"Yes, but it has, as I like to say, the added benefit of being true."

"How are we going to explain the filter to the pool man?" asked Della eyebrows raised. "You have to go back to work at least two more days a week or you're going to wear me out."

"No, I'm going to wear you down." Perry said stroking her back his arms around her waist.

Perry reached over for the remote and a familiar samba came through the speakers.

"You always could, couldn't you?" Della moaned low in his ear.

"Sing it for me, baby."

Perry slid his arms around her, moving through the water with her in a samba.

"In the middle…" Della started giggling, "Of the hot tub, my love?"

"In the middle of the hot tub young lady."

"Sing for me, Della…"

"You are either so smitten you think I can still sing—or ever could—or you are a masochist; the latter, I think."

"Sing."

"Under one condition, we do one of your things then we do one of mine."

"What would you like to do on this fine afternoon my darling girl?"

"Make love just like we did ten years ago today at the Ritz."

"Those are stiff terms, Miss Street," Perry started grinning from ear-to-ear and restarted the song with his remote.

Della's arms and legs still held him tight; they always would.

"Thank you, my one and only love. Thank you for making this song come true. How I love you…"

Perry nuzzled into Della's neck, "Everything good in my life is because of you—you _are_ my 'Sweet, Happy Life,' baby…now sing…then we'll do your thing…"

_My wish for you, sweet happy life_

_May all the days of the year that you live be laughing days_

_With all my heart, sweet happy life_

_And may the night times that follow the days be dancing nights_

_Stars for your smile, Moons for your hair_

_And someone's wonderful love, For your loving heart to share__  
_

_My wish for you, sweet happy life_

_May all your sorrows be gone and your heart begin to sing_

_And if a wish can make it be_

_I wish you spend every day of your happy life with me__  
_

Della wrapped her arms around Perry's neck, staring into his eyes.

_Stars for your smile, Moons for your hair_

_And someone's wonderful love, For your loving heart to share_

_My wish for you, sweet happy life_

_May all your sorrows be gone and your heart begin to sing_

_And if a wish can make it be_

_I wish you spend every day of your happy life with me._

_**And they lived and lived and lived and lived and lived… happily ever after…**_

**-30-**

_**Suggested Musical notes (no pun intended): These are what I hear when I think of my D&P**_

_**Chapt 12**_

_Sweet Happy Life: Peggy Lee's version or Connie Evingson's._

_Charlie Parker with Strings the Master Takes (on which you will find "Lover" the song that plays throughout "Rear Window," starring…_

_**Chapt 11**_

_Dream Dancing: Ella Fitzgerald_

_**Chapt 9**_

_Everything I Have is Yours: Billie Holliday (Of course)_

_Long Ago and Far Away: Chet Baker_


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